The Darwinian Theory
by C. Holywell-Black
Summary: L searches for the perfect surrogate mother when struggling to choose a successor. After several unsuccessful propositions, he turns to an unexpected source. LxOC, 2 years pre-Kira.
1. I Want It All

_A young fighter screaming, with no time for doubt  
>With the pain and anger can't see a way out,<br>It ain't much I'm asking, I heard him say,  
>Gotta find me a future move out of my way,<br>I want it all, I want it all, I want it all, and I want it now_

- 'I Want It All' by Queen

**July 2001**

It was a wonderfully sunny day, with not a cloud in the sky, just one of those days that slaps you in the face with a big hand of happy. Such days were rare for England, even during summer. The sky could well have been the Caribbean sea in August, the grass lush green meadows. Of course, the worst things always occur on days such as this. When people can find nothing to complain about, they simply create something. Easy – like the drop of a hat. Are people not delightful?

A yell of unadulterated anger punctured the previous tranquility that had settled over the institution for gifted children that was Wammy's House. What followed this was a young boy by the name of Near being chased out onto the grass. Children fight all the time. However, most children do not fight every single week without fail chasing each other around the garden with a chunk of wood (that has been confiscated several times before) and intent to kill.

Because of this, an older man known as Roger pursued the children for a short time. Unfortunately, being the age he was, he had to hang back. Mello, the blonde teen with the piece of wood, was getting closer every time. Although in terms of speed, strength and stature Mello was far above Near, Near had the edge in terms of intelligence. Whenever he saw Mello getting too close, he dropped onto his front and let Mello run ahead.

"Why don't you ever just _not tell _Mels what his score is?" a redhead said lazily to Roger. He leant up against a tree casually, a pair of orange goggles strapped to his head. Despite having left the building to watch the fight that was unfurling in front of them, his attention was drawn back to his gaming console.

"You know, sometimes I wish that I did, Matt," Roger sighed, "but who would I be if I kept the results of all of his hard work from him?"

"The man with average blood pressure," Matt chuckled throatily. "Do you want me to stop them again?"

Roger bowed his head. "Please."

Matt smirked and tucked his Gameboy Advance into his jeans pocket. It took him only a few seconds to walk out into the daylight, take a whistle out of his pocket and blow into it sharply. There was no response. Mello must have been even more incensed with rage than usual. The gamer rolled his eyes impatiently and tracked him, figuring out where he was going to be.

That was when he took a run at the blonde, leg ready to hook around his torso and take him down. From there on, he simply had to sit on him. Infuriated, Mello squirmed and lashed out, all to no avail. Matt, relaxed as ever, took out his Nintendo DS and proceeded to absolutely demolish Kirby.

"Matt!" Mello screamed. "Get off of me _right now_, or I swear I'll-"

"What you gonna do, pretty boy?" Matt snickered. "I just owned you." He got bored after about a minute, then looked down at his best friend again. "Are you calm now?"

"If I say yes, will you quit crushing my ribcage?"

"You think I give a shit?"

"I'm gonna kill you-!"

"Dude, I'm thinking of taking up smoking. I very highly doubt you'll be the thing that kills me."

"You start smoking when I blow myself up!" Mello threatened.

"I didn't know you cared so much…" Matt said mock-sweetly. He stood and helped Mello up, though the blonde refused help on second thought, as damaged as his bad-boy reputation was already. "You all right, mate?"

"Yeah," Mello muttered.

"Let's go inside, yeah?" Matt suggested patiently. "I heard someone's coming to give us a talk on some stuff. If it's Sex Ed again, I'm gonna crack up laughing. The amount kids here don't know…"

This would have been the conventional time that Mello was placated and joined Matt in ridiculing the latest speaker that had been sent to teach the students things that they already were well aware of. However, this being such a beautiful day, something unpleasant was sure to happen, and it did so when the blonde spied Near walking away from their confrontation scot-free, without so much as a hint of breathlessness.

How dare he humiliate Mello with his ease of effort? How many times had the albino gotten away with such conceited behavior, never once feeling anything other than smugness? Where was the bloody guilt? It was the smugness of the albino that really got to him.

The final straw was when he caught Near smirking. _Smirking. _As if the simplicity of his situation was _amusing_.

Suddenly, Mello flew at Near with the fury and speed of a wild animal, shoving him to the ground and punching him. Neither Matt nor Roger had expected this, and so it was a few moments before they responded. Matt sprinted to where his best friend was, attempting to pry him away before he did too much damage. This was difficult – Mello fought back, yanking his arms from Matt's grasp and trying to get at the boy again.

"Stop it!" Matt yelled. "Let him go! Jesus!"

"You smug little _shit_!" Mello was roaring. "I'm gonna kill you!"

"Christ, drop it, Mels!" Matt insisted, pulling him away again.

"Mello!" Roger barked. "Get inside! _Now_."

When Near emerged from the brawl, the students saw him with breathing difficulties and clutching at the area where his ribs were located. Roger supported him all the way to the infirmary. Mello sank to the ground, sitting beside Matt as he attempted to cool off. The rage was still pulsing through him, though, and he was still receiving stares from horrified or morbidly curious students.

He glared at them, humiliated. "Will all of you just _fuck off_?" he shouted.

"Oh, man," Matt sighed. "This isn't gonna be good."

**XXX**

L had never been particularly fussed about planes. They ascended, flew a bit, then descended. The air hosts and hostesses were giving extremely bemused looks, and he had spotted two air hostesses pointing at him and giggling. So much for customer service. Admittedly, he had already possessed a negative attitude when Watari had told him that they were traveling back to England for a short while. He would rather have been in a hotel room in New York than on a plane home.

Now there was this thing to attend to with choosing a successor. This was depressing to say the least. For goodness' sake, he had no plans to die yet. He was twenty-one years old, not eighty-one. He knew he would be turning twenty-two in October, and then, officially, his responsibilities would pile up. Twenty-one was the last age at which someone could make seriously ridiculous mistakes and still be called 'too young to deal with them'. After this, he would have to give up being childish.

Watari sighed, glancing at his phone. "Oh dear."

"What is it?" He did not really want to know, yet asked anyway out of curious habit.

"It seems there has been trouble with your successors." He glanced at his charge. "I know you are weary of them. Ryuzaki. Ryuzaki, are you concentrating?"

"Mm." His attention was actually fixed on the legs of an air hostess approximately his age. Just because he did not outwardly show any signs of sexual interest did not mean he could not appreciate a view. As far as Watari knew, he was an asexual man with deep, profound thoughts on his mind.

"Well, apparently one of your successors attacked another one."

This caught L's attention. "Backup again?"

"No, not this time. Rather, Mello."

"He is too volatile," L muttered. "And if he wishes to succeed anyone, then he needs to learn to control his temper. It is not a lack of intelligence, just a lack of self-restraint. He needs what Near has, and Near requires what Mello has."

"There is a lot of trouble to be expected with children, especially those entering adolescence," Watari told him. "You cannot ignore that, since you agreed to-"

"It was _your _idea," L pointed out dryly. "And look at just how successful it was. Alternative is on the brink of self-destruction with his need for psychiatric help. Backup is acting out violently and is set to be in detention for the rest of his education-"

"He needs help as much as A, Ryuzaki."

"He tortured the class hamster with a scalpel and keeps jarfuls of what he says are organs in his bedroom," L said. "I cannot deny that he needs help of a certain kind."

"Backup is desperately misunderstood-"

"He cut open a rodent and disemboweled it in front of the entire infant Biology class," L cut him off.

"There was another boy I knew who was just misunderstood," Watari reminded him, only to receive a glower in response. "It strikes me that this decision you have to make, choosing your successor, is particularly difficult for you."

"It is not as if I am going to die any time soon," L remarked.

"Obviously, I hope that your dying is not the case. However, everyone dies, and I want you to be prepared in that situation. So you must make your choice." He frowned. "Or… no, that is a silly idea, ignore me…"

L put a thumb to his lips with interest. "What is a silly idea?"

"Nothing… foolish old man…"

"Tell me."

"No, no, it's a ludicrous, mad notion."

Just what he needed before he turned twenty-two and waved goodbye to recklessness forever. "Watari. Tell me."

"Well, you… you could pass your title down to… to your _offspring_." L could tell his guardian was trying to phrase this in the most delicate manner possible, and the idea still made his heart hammer under his ribcage.

"I don't have any children, Watari." He exhaled slowly. "Are you honestly suggesting that I father a child in order to find an appropriate successor?"

"As you said, you aren't likely to die soon. You would have time to train the child before you… popped your clogs. In the meantime, you could take on less dangerous cases. Make time to get to know your child. Then, when you eventually… push up carnations… they can take your place, minus the fuss that comes with choosing a successor." Once he had finished, he studied L's expression to gauge his reaction, and came up with nothing.

After a few minutes of saying nada, L spoke up. "So all I would have to do would be find a surrogate mother?"

"Yes."

"Can I just not become the first man to clone myself?"

"No."

He sighed. "Damn."

"Now, Ryuzaki… do you want to do this?" Watari asked severely. "Having a child is a huge responsibility, and you would need to find the perfect mother should you want the child a specific way, with certain traits. Using the Darwinian theory, the survival of the fittest, you should be able to make a child."

"I know how procreation works," L informed him. "I assume what I will be doing is in vitro fertilization, and not…?"

"IVF would probably be the best option. Emotional attachments are not the ultimate aim of this undertaking, are they?" He appraised L with a cautious expression. "Are you positive that you will be capable of finding a self-respecting, intelligent and pleasant woman willing to do this kind of job?"

L smirked a little, unclipping his seatbelt and standing, careful not to his head in the overhead storage lockers. "I do not understand your concern, Watari. I am excellent with women."

That was around the point that the air hostess whose legs he had been admiring from a distance earlier rammed the refreshment cart into his ankles roughly. She glared at him.

"Drink, sir?" she snapped. "A glass of cold water, perhaps?"

* * *

><p><em>This is the first pre-Kira non-AU story I've ever written. It should be good fun, as it is essentially a comedy. This is only a pilot chapter. If it gets zilch reviews I'll take it that no one's interested and will drop it. This is also not going to have sequels, or be part of a series.<em>

_Please review letting me know what you think. The best is yet to come!_

_C._


	2. Somebody To Love

_They say I'm goin' crazy  
>They say I got a lot of water in my brain<br>Got no common sense  
>I got nobody left to believe<em>

- 'Somebody To Love' by Queen

There were three choices so far, and to be honest, Watari was astonished there had even been that many matching the criteria that he and his charge had set out: that the woman who acquiesced to becoming a surrogate mother must be intelligent, dignified, with strong moral convictions, and preferably in law enforcement. Secretly, L was hoping for an attractive choice, but he wasn't getting his hopes up yet.

That night, there was to be a police ball held in London as a celebration of a successful year for the Metropolitan police. Many, many people would be there, including all three of the women that they had discovered. The first was a hardened officer by the name of Jackie Meryton. She was twenty-nine years old and had turned in her own brother because he had admitted to possession of a large amount of cocaine. Seeing a photograph of her, L immediately thought of a bull. This did not bode well.

Secondly, there was a newly sworn-in force control room operator by the name of Connie Beckman, who dealt with emergency calls to the police. She was being honored for her fantastically calm head as she had managed a hostage situation so well that nobody at all was hurt, including the aggressor. She was young, at twenty-three, and showed a brilliant amount of promise for someone so inexperienced. She was the favorite at that moment, considering her youth and pretty face.

Finally, there was the twenty-five-year-old lawyer training to be a barrister, Phyllis Ruth. Plenty of times she had been at the bar, watching as criminals L had found were convicted of their crimes. She was reasonably attractive, there was no lying to be done there. Her cheekbones were prominent and her green eyes sharp, but she had an air of glamour and elegance about her that only a professional could maintain, even in a photograph.

Dressing up felt wrong, so all L did – despite the chiding he received from Watari – was put a black jacket over his usual white shirt and jeans. He had been invited on behalf of the great detective L, though no one at the gathering was likely to know who this enigma was. Even with the police he kept a low profile, only revealing his existence to those with the highest ranking.

The party was in full swing when he arrived, slinking his way through the crowds searching for those who he had picked out. "Look like a professional," Watari had warned. He remembered what he had put in his jeans pocket earlier, and removed a pair of glasses. They had thick black frames, and may well have not had any glass in them for what use he had of them.

He felt a hand clap him on the back and cleared his throat. A massive, moustache-bearing gentleman with a few medals pinned to his chest was looking down at him. He was pretty sure he hadn't met the man before.

"Don't slouch so, lad!" he chastised. "You should be proud to be part of this team!" He completed a grand sweeping gesture of the room. "Look at this place! It's packed full of credits to Her Majesty!"

"Indeed, sir. Excuse me, I'm afraid I'm looking for somebody-"

"Ah, I understand! Young love… but don't be so shy, dear boy!" He slapped L on the back hard again. L grunted with the pain of it. "You are a part of a major operation, a proud nation's police force!"

"I beg your pardon," L muttered, slipping away and seeking one of the three women in amongst the crowds.

The first one he spotted was Jackie Meryton, the officer. She was hanging around the bar with a series of men who must have also been members of the police force, and not lawyers or any such professions. She, unlike most other women, was wearing an ivory-colored pant-suit. Her mouse-brown hair was shorn short and spiky, and she was laughing raucously with the others.

"Constable Jackie Meryton?" he started. Jackie, plus all of the other men, turned to stare at him. "My name is Ryuzaki. I would appreciate a word in private."

"Nothing you have to say to me can't be said in the presence of my pals here, right?" she grumbled. "I'm not going anywhere with someone I don't know."

"No, really, I think it should be in private." He was beginning to sound desperate now, receiving curious glances.

"If you got a problem with me, mate, you can fuck off and leave me alone," Jackie spat. "I could knock you flying with one punch. You got that?"

L nodded slowly. "Figures."

"_What_?" she barked. "What the hell are you implying? Look, I don't know who you think you are, but I think you're a weasel! A slimy little worm, talking to a woman like that!"

God, women were sensitive. Did they all read into things that much? He had believed he could understand women just like he understood men. This wasn't supposed to be happening!

"You misunderstand-"

"_I _misunderstand?" she snapped. "I don't think so, pal! You seem just like the panty-thief type, and I don't like the look of you, so clear off before I make you!"

"Seriously-? _Ow_!" He practically went soaring back into the crowd with the force of the punch Jackie Meryton had used on him. He could feel blood welling up in his nostrils. "Christ," he muttered. "That was _not _a woman…"

He bumped into someone, and when he swiveled around to apologize in an angry undertone, he realized who it was he had bumped into. Phyllis Ruth, the auburn-haired lawyer four years his senior. In one hand she held a glittering pink cocktail and in the other was a sparkly green purse. She wore an emerald silk dress and looked down at him with pursed red lips.

"Watch where you're going," she sighed.

"Wait, wait," he insisted. "You're Phyllis, right?"

"Who's asking?" she said, frowning.

"My name is Ryuzaki," he began. Good, this was a start. She didn't look like she wanted to beat the shit out of him. "I heard about you and I was wondering if maybe you and I could-"

She threw back her head and laughed. "Really?" she sneered. "You think you're even halfway into my league? You're crazy. I can do way better than you."

Uh… _what_? "Hang on a second-"

"I have a guy waiting over there who's been drooling over me since I started working in the same office," she boasted. "And he's cuter than you by miles. So hell no, I am not going back to your place."

She set off in the direction of the bar. That was a rejection if there ever was one. All he had wanted to request was a talk, and then see where they would go from there in terms of say, a contract. Now what? His chances of finding a decent surrogate mother were decimating rapidly by the minute. The only one he had left to speak to was the FCR operator, Connie Beckman.

Connie Beckman had been his preference all along. She was closer to his age, therefore attractive in a manner that did not feel like she was being a cougar… though technically, she was, as she was twenty-three and he twenty-one years of age. Her hair was dyed platinum-blonde, and she had a petite figure. Her eyes were bright blue.

L seemed to be on the receiving end of very puzzled looks. The word of his unsuccessful endeavors to maintain a conversation with both Jackie Meryton (Jackie fucking Meryton, of all people, who probably had never had an offer of a _date_ before), and the fantastically glamorous Phyllis Ruth (Phyllis? How old-fashioned was that? Nobody called their kids Phyllis anymore without making them a target for habitual bullying).

He wanted to call Watari and tell him that this whole venture was a complete waste of time and he would rather just choose a successor than deal with this kind of mind-fucking stress. He had always assumed that since males and females were both human, they may think the same way. It turned out that women were a much more unforgiving species, ones who demanded wooing and pleasantries before they even considered initiating conversation with you.

He spotted Connie Beckman after he had splashed his face with cold water in the men's bathrooms. She was dancing. Okay, what she was doing was capturing the attention of every single red-blooded man in the room. It wasn't a wonderfully sensual thing or even sexy. The way in which she moved looked kind of… well, desperate. 'Look at me!' it shouted. 'I'm over here!'

Still. No judgment to be passed as of yet. L tapped her on the shoulder and when she saw him, her eyes widened in surprise. She clearly hadn't been expecting the geek chic look from the person who stopped her dancing. Maybe tall, stocky and muscular.

"Connie Beckman, yes?" he clarified.

"That's right," she beamed. "I'm Connie. What's your name?"

"Ryuzaki," he explained. Phew. So far, so good. She was keeping the conversation going without too much effort on his part. She was interested in him. This was going better than both Jackie Meryton and Phyllis Ruth.

"Oh my God, that's, like, Japanese," she squealed. "That's so cool! My BFF Allie, she was always like, 'I TTLY wanna date an Asian guy', and I could never understand it, but OMG, that's, like, so kawaii. You're total bishie material."

L blinked. What had just happened? "I must confess I have no idea what at least half of what you just said actually means."

"Aw! That's adorable!"

Her voice, despite only hearing it for a few minutes, was already beginning to grate on his nerves. Was this the voice of somebody who had stopped a hostage situation with no innocent casualties? Where was the intelligence? Where was the dignity in it all? She was speaking a completely foreign language, and he knew a fair number of those anyway. Had the guilty one in the hostage situation shot himself so as not to hear the negotiator anymore?

"So, what was it you wanted to ask me?" she smiled brightly.

"Oh, sorry, I think I have the wrong person. Are you Connie Peckman?" he asked hastily.

"Peckman?" She looked crestfallen. "No, no. I'm _Beckman_."

"Sorry again, I'm looking for Constance _Peckman_," he lied. "Sorry for the confusion."

"Oh…" she mumbled. "See you."

Eek. That had been one seriously close shave. A girl that enthusiastic had to be rejected, not be the one to reject him. Just her optimism and eagerness made him uncomfortable. Would he want a child of his to be so incessantly happy? No, it was creepy, and he was eighty-seven percent certain everybody else in that room had found a tiny bit creepy too. He went into the lobby of the hotel that the ball was being held in. He was delving into his pocket for his cell phone faster than someone could say 'hi'.

It was a few rings before Watari answered the phone. "Hello, L. How is everything going down at the party?"

"Get. Me. Out. Now," he said distinctly through gritted teeth.

There was a pause. "I take it not a success then?"

"You assume correctly."

"But _all _of them? All three said no to your proposition that quickly? You can only have been there about forty-five minutes at most," he protested.

"Two denied me, the other I denied," he said. "I refuse to have any child of mine using words such as, 'kawaii', or utilizing so many acronyms it's like being in a police station every day. Watari, what does 'bishie' even _mean_? Where do these words _come from_?"

"I'm coming to get you in five minutes. Wait out front and don't get attacked by enraged feminists."

* * *

><p><em>It seems the pilot chapter isn't as unpopular as I thought it would be, so I decided to post this one, still seeing how it goes.<em>

_Yes, as you can tell, the chapters are named after Queen songs._

_Please review and I'll get back to you as soon as I can if you have any questions!_

_C._


	3. Under Pressure

_Pressure pushing down on me  
>Pressing down on you no man ask for<br>Under pressure - that burns a building down  
>Splits a family in two<em>

- 'Under Pressure' by Queen

The rape case that should have been preoccupying all of L's time had become second priority since the beginning of his weird adventure to find the right surrogate mother for his unborn child – when he was twenty-one years old. Everything was going horribly wrong so far. Every single woman that had been named a potential candidate was not at all suitable.

One woman had been scarily similar to him, and he had never hated someone quite so much, in an odd sort of way. Her name was Tamara Crowe, and she was a detective with a police force in Lancaster. Having met the woman, it was decided that his own traits: stubbornness, blatancy, sharpness and intelligence, were better executed in male form. She had attempted to order him around and he had been on the verge of losing his temper. L was not certain if this was some kind of joke on Watari's part, but it wasn't funny.

After traveling down to Cornwall, they had sought a woman by the name of Stacey Harmon, who had been incredibly intelligent and well-read, not to mention eloquent and quick-witted, but was a possible carrier of cystic fibrosis, a recessive genetic disease that caused mucus to build up and the lungs, and would take a lifetime of physiotherapy and medication to deal with. The life expectancy of those with cystic fibrosis was not the highest.

Another young lady called Molly Thompson had led to him being dragged into a crowd of movie geeks who were suffering from snotty noses and halitosis. Molly had been a twenty-year-old female who worked at the reception of one of Leicestershire's police headquarters. Eager and excitable, her enthusiasm had needless to say overwhelmed L and caused his slipping out of the crowds as stealthily as humanly possible.

They were returning to London that evening when Watari announced he was going to set up several more meetings so that L could get the scope on other candidates. Funnily enough, women of the caliber L was seeking were not desperate to procreate with a man who would most likely not going to be around for their child's upbringing. It was strange how happily L's guardian was throwing himself into this task, checking through the census, police records and suchlike.

"All right, have a listen to this," Watari encouraged him, starting to read off the page he had just printed. "Judy Grayson, aged twenty-five, is an up-and-coming fast-tracker, ready to go high in policing. She has encouragement from four different sergeants in different counties-"

"No," L refused point blank. "Fast-tracker does not bode well. She does commit for long. She would pull out."

"Well, how about this one?" he suggested. "Chantelle-?"

"No."

"What?" Watari said, astonished. "You haven't even heard about her yet."

"Not when her name is Chantelle. Next."

"Danielle Henley, aged twenty-six, recently received a high post at a prestigious law firm," Watari read, "with a first class honors degree in law from Oxford. She looks really promising, a nice girl-"

"Oxford," L muttered. "I prefer Cambridge. More dynamic boat-races."

"Well, that's all of the ones I have found after you turned down the last three," his guardian sighed. "Why is it so difficult for you to make up your mind? These are all perfectly sound choices, yet you find flaws with every single one of them. Some you haven't even met in person…"

"Maybe I am just searching for the _right_ person," L defended himself.

"Or maybe you're procrastinating because you know the longer you put it off, the less likely it is you will find someone willing to take part in this venture," Watari pointed out. "You cannot stay married to your work all of your life, L, as much as you want to be."

"Thank you for the inspirational talk," L mumbled, "can I have my cake now?"

Watari shook his head. "You're incorrigible."

"Cake?"

Watari finally brought out a tray piled high with cake, a teapot, cup, saucer and a series of newspapers all detailing the rape case that L was investigating. Glad to be granted his food again, he forked an obnoxious-looking cherry that he felt was mocking him with its red juicy cherry-ness. Once he had demolished the cake that was also openly mocking him, he turned his attention to the newspapers.

On the front page of _The__Sun_, a supposedly inspiring story about a woman called Tanya on _Britain__'__s__Got__Talent_took up most of the space. He waited until Watari had gone to make some more tea to turn to the page with all of the adverts on it. This was a last resort. This time, he was taking matters into his own pale, bony hands, whether his guardian liked it or not. No longer would he sit across from a woman who felt she was superior to him.

_He_would find _them_.

All the dating adverts came across as pleading and desperate to him, or else advertising for pitiful murder victims. He skimmed the page until he found the 'private detection' column of the tabloid. The first name was Mr. Timothy Kent, so that was a big no-no with an extra splash of fuck off on top. Below that was an organization based in Birmingham, and although he was grasping at straws, Birmingham was a bit of a stretch of his already worn patience.

Underneath that was the last ad, an enigmatic, vague advertisement with a black background and magenta pink capital letters spelling out a single name: Solène.

"'For all you need'," L murmured, "'simply call this number and meet Solène face-to-face. London-based.'"

Glancing over his shoulder to ensure Watari wasn't looking, he took a red Sharpie between his index finger and thumb and encircled Solène's detection advert.

**XXX**

Later that evening, when he believed that Watari was asleep, he picked up his cell phone and held it to his ear after dialing the required number. Anticipation curled in his stomach as he heard the dialing tone disappear. This could be the wrong decision, though if it was, Watari would not know and he would just have to endure further meetings with these women who saw it fit to belittle him at every opportunity.

The voice on the other end of the phone was male and gruff. "Hello?"

"I wish to speak to Solène," L explained. "Is she available?"

A throaty cough. "Are you a registered client of hers?"

"No, but I wish to see her as soon as possible," he told the man on the other end. "I think it best that we, as her ad put it, 'meet face-to-face'."

"What, tonight?"  
>Wow, that was quick. She must have been a dedicated worker, or an insomniac like himself. "That would be perfect, thank you."<p>

"Name? So she knows who to look out for?"

"Ryuzaki. Just Ryuzaki."

"I'll tell her to meet you in a café in Whitechapel," the man responded. "Look for Sammy's. They're discreet there, they keep to their own business. She'll be there in an hour."

"I appreciate it."

The conversation finished there. L was not far from Whitechapel, maybe only ten minutes' walk away. So this was how it was supposed to be. Careful not to make too much noise, he stood up and placed his cell phone in his jeans pocket, as well as tucking the rolled-up _Sun_under his arm. He decided shoes would be best for this meeting, though he still could not bear to put socks on. He adamantly refused to believe he would get blisters walking anywhere, and socks were the oppressors of the foot.

The streets of Whitechapel were thronged with crowds who paid close attention to Jack the Ripper tours, were staggering drunkenly out of local pubs or were dressed in the most conspicuous clothes available to the public in order to teeter precariously in high heels toward a nightclub. L was forced to stand out as the only one who appeared to not have made any effort at all.

Whitechapel was fortunately not an area of east London that took up a huge amount of land, so it was reasonably simple to find the street just off the famous Brick Lane that kept the café known as Sammy's. The location was not a surprise in its condition: as the rest of Whitechapel became busier and busier, Sammy's became more isolated. Few walked through its doors, and even fewer walked out.

Sammy's Café was compact and dingy, with grime smearing its windows. As L entered, he received the impression that even rats would turn their nose up at it, neglecting the tiniest crumb on its fungal tiled floor. It was like walking into a wall of bad odors: vegetable soup that smelled like feet after a long, damp hike, been-off-for-a-while milk, stale cigarette smoke and nasty garlic breath. L likened it to one time he had accidentally inhaled the rotten-egg fumes of sulfur dioxide and had choked on the stench.

Of course this place was discreet enough for a meeting between two detectives – no one with an ounce of common sense would come to this place willingly and stay long enough to eavesdrop. He was met by a small fat woman with probing dark eyes and crows' feet. Her straggly, graying hair was tied back into a tight bun, her hands on her hips as she watched him accusingly.

"Can I help you?" she said, her voice tinged with an accent L could not quite place.

"Please, I would like a table for two," L explained, "I am meeting somebody here."

She looked him up and down and nodded. "All right, then. You follow me, I'll find you somewhere."

Somewhere? L thought. You must be joking, stupid woman. There is nobody here besides you and I, and that deranged-looking chap behind the bar.

He shot the 'deranged-looking chap' a concerned glance. He was about five feet four inches in height and was bald, with enormous bug-eyes and a pasty complexion. It appeared one eye was bigger than the other, quite significantly, though both were large. He poured a glass of vodka, despite the fact L, the only customer, had not ordered one, and, with the expertise of a true Russian, downed it.

L was ushered unceremoniously into an empty booth and handed a laminated menu with bold Times New Roman listing the possible victuals you could purchase.

"Would you like to start with some coffee?" the woman asked.

"Yes," L answered. "That would be perfectly fitting." He finally recognized the accent. "Humor me – you are not from Hawaii, by any chance, are you?"

"I am," the woman responded in surprise. "Maui."

"I wondered."

"Gedeon is from St. Petersburg," she told him, gesturing to the ever-so-slightly deformed man standing behind the bar. "My name is Sue."

"Sue," L said. In the back of his mind, he was logging the two points for himself – he had been correct on both accounts, even if he had only judged Gedeon's nationality by observing him chugging a glass of vodka. It had been a got shot in the dark regardless.

"I'll go get that coffee for you," Sue smiled, and though the smile was pleasant enough, there was a hidden strain to it that L did not quite see.

Every time the door sounded like it was being opened, he looked up from his coffee. Sue had convinced him to order a batch of waffles as well, because she allegedly hated to see someone waiting with no proper food in front of them. After two women had already been into the café, L's hopes had gone to waste. Neither had stayed long, and both had headed off in the direction of Brick Lane shortly after their arrival.

"Waffles won't be long," Sue called to L. "You wait right there."

The glass door swung open again, and a young woman walked in. Long, wavy blonde hair swept past her shoulders. She looked to be about five foot eight inches tall, with bright blue eyes. For all the short notice L had given Solène, she had given great care to her appearance, make-up well done and wrapping herself in a nicely fitting black coat that reached just above her knees, allowing a nice view of slim legs and high-heeled shoes.

"Hey, sweetie," Sue said brightly. "You here for business again?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

Sue shook her head disapprovingly. "I wish you wouldn't, honey. It's dangerous. You'll get yourself hurt."

"I think I can handle myself, Sue," Solène shrugged. She gestured to L. "I think that there's my perp."

* * *

><p><em>So now we've met Solène, things should get more interesting. Remember - I never make any of my stories that straightforward, so there's bound to be a twist.<em>

_If you're reading, please review. You've all been great so far, I really appreciate it._

_C._


	4. Innuendo

_Oh yes we'll keep on tryin'  
>Tread that fine line<br>Oh we'll keep on tryin' yeah  
>Just passing our time<em>

- 'Innuendo' by Queen

L must have done something great in a past life. Solène was beyond what he had hoped for, even though he had just so happened to find her in the newspaper that was rolled up on the empty part of the seat next to him. When she properly caught sight of him, her eyes widened for a fleeting moment, before she finally walked slowly to go join him. L noticed that Sue and Gedeon left them alone.

Solène took a seat opposite him and granted him a smile of straight white teeth. She gestured to his coffee. "You ordered the coffee? Good call. Honestly, it's the best thing they do here." Her eyes twinkled teasingly. "So, what you called for, wouldn't you prefer somewhere more private?"

"I have a hotel room booked not far from here," L explained, "but I don't think that's the best idea at the moment, so here is fine."

She arched an eyebrow questioningly. "I'm up for anything, seriously. I've dealt with pretty much everything in the business. Nothing shocks me anymore."

"You sound experienced."

"I _am _experienced," she agreed. "I've been doing this since I was eighteen."

"And now you're how old?"

She chuckled. "I'm twenty-one now."

L nodded, processing the information. She was perfect if only she would say yes – she matched the whole criteria. She was in law enforcement, she seemed intelligent, capable of dealing with anything thrown at her, was certainly attractive and had a dignity about her he could not quite define. Perhaps it was confidence. Perhaps it was arrogance. Perhaps it was defiance. He couldn't tell. All he cared about now was offering the proposition he had come to speak to her for.

"Please, if you would humor me, I have a request."

This instantly caught her attention. She tilted her head to one side and studied his face with wide blue eyes. "What is it that you want, Mr. Ryuzaki?"

He took a deep breath and prepared himself to say it out loud. "I require your services as a woman."

To his astonishment, she leant forward, placing an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her upturned palm. "To what extent?"

"You are not troubled by this prospect?" His hopes leapt high into the air, did a little dance on the clouds, then drifted gently back down to Earth again. This was only elevated when her facial expression became slightly puzzled.

"No."

"That would make you the first. There are many who have refused my proposition," he admitted, trying not to look too embarrassed.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, some can afford to be picky."

She had said yes. She had said _yes_? Who had dropped this blonde package out of heaven onto L's doorstep for once? "Excellent. Now, before we begin, I can assure you that all medical expenses will be paid for, should problems arise-"

For the first time, she frowned. "Is this your way of telling me you have a disease?"

"Not at all. I will have you know that my medical history is completely clean, due to immunizations."

"So you're clear of tetanus shots," she murmured. "That's reassuring."

"I must be certain you are indeed the Solène I have arranged to meet with," L said, "so I have a series of questions for you."

Her answering laugh was cool and sarcastic. "Let me guess. Okay… purple… never done it… only for you, sexy, and… not cheap."

"I beg your pardon?" L spluttered.

"Oh, we'll do it your way, then," she sighed. "Go ahead, Mr. Ryuzaki. Ask the questions."

"I was going to ask you if your family has any history of birth defects," he deadpanned, awaiting her reaction.

"Uh… what?"

"Does your family have a history of birth defects? Blindness? Tourettes Syndrome? Down's Syndrome? Noonan's Syndrome? Physical deformities?" He awaited her reaction with anticipation. He had her consent, but not everything in terms of details.

She was staring in total disbelief at him. "Excuse me?"

He nodded slowly, taking it in. He made a mental note. "No knowledge of birth defects… we can talk about that later…" Sipping his coffee, which by now was beginning to go lukewarm, he cleared his throat. "Now, your eyes, they are blue, that's a recessive gene, and your hair, it is blonde, also a recessive gene… You are clearly a source of less likely alleles."

Abruptly, she stood, holding her manicured hands up in surrender. Her words came out in a rush. "Look, I don't know what's going through your head right now, Mr. Ryuzaki, but seriously… I know it takes all types to make a world… come on… the scientific lingo doesn't do it for me, and I don't intend to try and make genetic disease sound dirty."

L blinked. "I think we misunderstand each other. You see, we would not be engaging in-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" she cried out suddenly. "What are we talking about here?"

"You really do not… understand what I am saying?" L asked.

"Uh, damn right I don't understand!" she snapped. "Why the hell did you call for me?"

"Well, considering your occupation… why are you looking at me in that manner?"

She sat back down cautiously, narrowing her eyes. She appeared to be working something through in her brain. "What do you think I do for a living?"

He reached for the paper at his side and flipped it open to the page with her ad in it, pointing to the column. "It says so in here. Private detection."

"Oh…" she breathed. "Uh… I'm afraid there's been a really stupid mistake made here, and it's not… it's not _your _fault, you couldn't have known… oh, shit…"

"Would you care to elaborate?"

She decided to put it best straight out and honest. "I'm not a private detective, Mr. Ryuzaki. My ad is in the wrong column."

"Where, then-?"

She leant forward and pointed to the column on the right-hand side of the private detection adverts. "It should be under _that _one."

He paused. "'Private escorts'?"

"I'm not in detection," she admitted, shrugging.

L could not help but clear his throat. It did not happen often, but he was getting rather hot under the collar. "You are a…"

"A call girl," she finished for him.

"Why would they even _have_this content?" he asked nobody in particular. His astonishment was obvious as he futilely attempted to gather his thoughts.

"It's a tabloid paper, Mr. Ryuzaki," Solène pointed out. "This type of content is usually the only content they have."

L stood up and held out his hand for her to shake. She mimicked his actions, standing and taking the hand he offered. It could have been worse. Instead of being offended, she had been rather amused. "My sincerest apologies for the mix-up, Miss…?"

"Kelly," she answered. "My name is Sara Kelly. Not Solène. Mind you, not that my 'clients' usually give a shit. Nice meeting you." She bid farewell to Sue and Gedeon as she started to head out the door. "Shame we didn't get a chance to discuss this fascination you appear to have with my family's contributions to the gene pool. And just so you know, no. As far as I know, the only birth defect in my family's history is giving birth to me." She pointed to her eyes. "Just so you know, my eyes are brown. These are contacts. Bye."

Just as she pushed the door open, she heard L speak again. "Miss Kelly?"

"Yes?" she asked as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

He swallowed. "What do you think of my becoming a father?"

"Well," she chuckled, "begin by choosing sex with someone who doesn't require payment, then… stick around. If you did that, you'd be making a pretty reasonable start as a dad in my opinion."

"Just out of curiosity…"

"Mm?"

"Just out of curiosity, those things you said earlier," he murmured, "to which questions were those your responses to?"

She laughed, trying not to look embarrassed. She touched the side of her neck with the hand not holding the door open and lowered her eyes for a moment before she returned eye contact. "Tell you what. If I ever meet you again in a non-business setting, then I'll tell you. Have a nice evening, Mr. Ryuzaki."

And just like that, she was gone.

L had just discovered the almost-perfect candidate to hire as a surrogate mother, except she was a prostitute. Not only that… he had just let her walk out of his life with unbelievable ease.

He took a deep breath, sat down back in his seat, pushed the newspaper off of the table and was surprised as Sue set a plate of waffles down in front of him.

"I know," she cackled. "You're not the first."

**XXX**

"You went _where_?"

It was approximately half-past six in the morning, around seven hours and ten minutes after he had met Solène – no, _Sara_ – for the first time. L had just explained to Watari his lone-ranger-style shenanigans from the night before and his guardian was granting him a long, predictable lecture on personal safety and taking responsibility for one's actions. The funny thing was, L was not denying the fact he had done it, so the part of admitting what he had done was completely and utterly redundant.

Regardless of Watari's irritation and scolding, L felt no remorse for his behavior, just annoyance with himself for letting Sara walk out before he had finished having a conversation with her. L had tried to explain, pointlessly, that despite having acted out, there had been a positive result that night. He had met the woman he wanted to help him pass his genetics down to his own little sleuth-spawn.

Now to find her. How difficult could it be? He had her name after all, and she had openly confessed her occupation, though her terms had been slightly different to his ('private escort'? How polite of her).

"The woman was delightful, Watari, and she displayed… what would you call it…? 'Street-smarts'? She understands social situations, the way that people think generally," L defended his actions. "She was the perfect candidate."

Watari sighed. "You said yourself that she was not actually in law enforcement, L."

"I can imagine it is the oldest profession in the world for a reason," he shrugged.

"You cannot be serious. You, the great detective L, who works so hard to preserve his anonymity and keep the world safe from murderers, thieves, rapists and the like, wishes to procreate with a prostitute from east London?" he spluttered in disbelief.

"Do not make this a matter of class," L said. "And I doubt highly she actually resides in east London. Her accent did not suit that of a Cockney."

"Where, then? You are hardly suggesting that she comes from a wealthy background that implies academic excellence such as Oxford, or Cambridge?" he asked. "I am open to a lot of choices, L, but you had to find the one choice who admittedly I struggle with."

"You do not think she is good enough for me." A statement, not a question.

"My dear boy, I look on you like a son. You have to comprehend that I will find it difficult to think anyone good enough for you, especially when it is a prostitute I have never met before, that you found in a tabloid."

L put a thumb to his lips, considering it. Then he stood and shook his head defiantly. "No more potential candidates. Sara Kelly is the one I have chosen. You should be glad, Watari. Your hardest role in this whole ordeal is finished. Choosing a candidate is done. Now only to find her again and request that she do what we wish to ask of her."

"L, you do not even know if she will do it."

"She will," he said firmly. "She is not like the others. We were looking for the wrong kind of person. We saw only the ones who were highly ranking and had strong career prospects. We should have been looking for ones who had much, much less to lose by giving birth to a child."

Watari nodded, finally giving in. "So when shall we meet this Sara Kelly?"

"Today. I shall seek out her current place of work during the day."

"Good… I only hope it is something a little more dignified than selling her body for money."

"Do not fret, Watari. She seems to be a quietly dignified person."

* * *

><p><em>I told you nothing was straightforward. Now we have met Sara, we know what she does (or part of what she does) and there has been some indication as to her personality.<em>

_I hope you enjoyed it - if you did or didn't, you can still review. Constructive criticism if what reviews are for, and if you flame, then you flame. Go ahead._

_C._


	5. It's A Hard Life

_Yeah, yeah, it's a hard life  
><em>_To be true lovers together  
><em>_To love and live forever in each others' hearts  
><em>_It's a long, hard fight  
><em>_To learn to care for each other  
><em>_To trust in one another right from the start  
><em>- 'It's A Hard Life' by Queen

"You lying little fucking _whore_!"

She'd had this coming, but come on, this was much too childish. Ian was acting like she'd slept with all of those guys because she didn't care about him, when this was clearly not the case. The only way she would ever have spread her legs for some of those sad losers was if she was getting paid for it. And hadn't she gotten good cash for it, enough to buy them both a bottle of champagne for his birthday?

How could it have come to this, Sara following him out onto the front path while gossipy neighbors watched her (now ex)-boyfriend shrieking at her, calling her a bitch and a slut? There were men who could not just deal with their insecurities. They just _had_to make a big deal out of the entire matter. So what if it happened that she was actually a prostitute? It's not like he'd minded before.

"I thought we had something special, a connection!" Ian yelled at her – very publicly. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I mean, we were together, and all that time, you were jumping on any cock who paid you enough! You're just standing there like you're the fucking Virgin Mary!"

She blew out her cheeks exasperatedly and checked her watch. "Are you seriously going to take much longer with your pathetic whining? I've got work in about half an hour."

He laughed disbelievingly. "Running off to another dick, Sara?"

"I'm going to work as a _waitress_, you retard!" she shouted back, having had enough about two minutes prior. "But you don't understand anything about work, do you? You only really get lazing about uselessly and watching porn. So go to hell, because a guy like you is only good for one thing, and even then I faked every orgasm I ever had with you."

She turned her back on him, returning to her house and shut the front door. God, that felt good. A bit of cathartic insulting was healthy, and she had definitely needed it. Rumors would be circulating around the neighborhood for a couple of weeks, as if they weren't already. Sara never brought clients back to the house, but that hadn't stopped people muttering about her going out late at night and not returning in the morning.

Sara retrieved her jacket from the hook and settled on going to work earlier than usual. As she strolled down the garden path, still watched inquisitively by irritatingly nosy neighbors, she considered her situation. Ian was not the first of her former boyfriends to have discovered her occupational circumstances. The first time she had been found out, she had been hurt. Now she just got annoyed. It was her job; it meant nothing.

The club at which she worked, Viva Loca, was not what was considered a conventional place to attend. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and perfume that was sprayed into the club to stop it smelling like sweat. It was difficult to see everything. The various podiums were illuminated, however the rest of the main part of the building was dark, or at least only lit with spotlights of hot pink and red.

Crazy redhead Iona met her at the bar with a wry grin. "You're early."

"Thanks for noticing," Sara sighed. "Ian's fault."

"Another one bites the dust," Iona chuckled. "Well, you can help behind the bar for a bit once you've clocked in. You will not believe it, but Teri's out."

"No!" Sara gasped. "What for?"

"What d'you think? Was never as careful as she should have been."

"You mean she's…?" The blonde used her hands to accentuate an imaginary round belly. That was practically taboo in their world, however, they would never turn their backs on a friend. None of them were better than the others, all being in the same boat.

"Nope," Iona shrugged. "Chlamydia got her eventually."

Sara winced. "Ouch."

"Tell me about it. I mean, shit, if you're going to work it, make sure you're all working. At least she caught it before she made another stupid mistake and got another STD, or gave one to a client." Iona wiped the bar, rolling her eyes. "Harry's probably going to give her the club once she's too old to deal. She's nice like that."

"Good choice of business partner."

"Speak of the devil."

Harriet Long did not suit her name at all – short, petite and dark-haired, she possessed a face reminiscent of golden-age cinema. Despite her once-obvious physical prowess, Harriet (or 'Harry', as she was known) was now reasonably older, and her age was beginning to show. Every girl working at Viva Loca was her 'baby girl', and to be treasured at all costs.

"Hi there, Harry," Iona greeted her. "Look who turned up."

"There's my sugar," Harry beamed, patting Sara's face. "Gorgeous as ever. I take it Iona filled you in on the Teri situation?"

"Skipping the gory details," Sara admitted. "What's up?"

"Teri was on the rota for working the main stage tonight. Now, I spoke to all the other girls, but they aren't so sure on stepping into Teri's shoes. I've seen you, Sara, you're good. They're all willing to back you up if you take lead." Harry smiled sweetly. "Please, Sara. You can't play waitress all your life."

"Do it, Sara," Iona encouraged. "You've got a right pair of lungs on you. Show them off."

"How many numbers?" Sara asked.

"Three. Then waitressing. Don't worry, nothing too massive all at once," Harry promised. "Teri's costumes should fit you fine, there's not much of them."

"Hey, Harry, when am I gonna get to sing lead?" Iona laughed.

"When your lesbian ass learns some musicality, I'll get you on backup," Harry teased. "You're flat as an eight-year-old boy's chest. Meet you backstage in fifteen minutes, Sara. You make sure you're ready for it."

Nodding, Sara slipped back behind the bar, through the door and up the narrow, spiraling stairs to the girls' dressing rooms. Sitting down at Teri's dressing table, she threw back her head and removed her hair-band to make her hair loose. Fleetingly she cursed, realizing she hadn't put her blue contacts in. It was to be pretty basic: red lipstick, dark eyes, thick lashes, loose hair, then the black corset and tiny black shorts that did not qualify as shorts but were named that for politeness.

The only things that she strongly disliked were Teri's shoes. They were too small for Sara by a couple of sizes and pinched her toes like a motherfucker.

A familiar voice was heard in the room suddenly.

"Hi, beautiful."

"Jenny!"

Jenny was Sara's best friend, and had been since her joining the 'business' when she was eighteen. She was the antithesis of her in appearance, more curvy, paler and with a slick dark brown bob. Her eyes were steely, with a tenacious glint. Still, they were extremely close, and under the same umbrella in most circumstances.

"Looks I'm dancing backup for you tonight, honey."

"You deserve front line, Jen, you know that," Sara sighed.

"Nah, I'm too tired," Jenny muttered, "you wouldn't believe the shit that went down with my last client. I mean, bloody hell. You could tell he hadn't been getting any recently. Went at it like an asthmatic rabbit. Huffing and heaving."

Sara snickered and raised her eyebrows. "You do not know weird."

"What are you talking about?"

"There was this guy last night…" she mumbled. "I really don't know what to tell you. He was the strangest-looking… and he didn't even want anything. Then he asked me what I thought he'd be like as a father."

"Sounds like a wackjob."

"He was nice. Fucked up as hell, but nice. Mind you, it turns out Paul put my ad in the wrong column. He wanted me as a… oh, Jesus, this is embarrassing… a private detective!"

Jenny burst into paroxysms of giggles. "Fuck my life, that's brilliant! Oh, God… and he had no idea when you went in dressed in a sexy bunny costume?"

"I didn't dress up as a sexy bunny, Jenny!" Sara laughed.

"Sexy police officer, then?"

"Jenny-"

"'You've been a bad, bad boy, Mister'…" Jenny sniggered. "'I must bring you to justice'."

"I don't need a sexy costume," Sara taunted, standing up and posing dramatically. "Look at these legs!"

"I am looking, Miss Kelly," Harry chuckled. "Don't you look wonderful? The outfit's a little smaller on you than I expected, but-"

"But I can squeeze."

"Exactly. Now get out there, baby-doll, they're waiting for you. You too, Jenny."

**XXX**

L had never been into a club such as this before, and he doubted that anyone else had ever visited on the same premise as him. Watari followed closely behind as they sat at the bar in Viva Loca, music pumping through the speakers. A woman with dyed hair the color of a Coca-Cola label greeted them, chewing gum. L noted the tongue stud that sparkled in the back of her mouth when she spoke.

"Hey, boys, what can I get you?"

"Two coffees," Watari interrupted before L could respond to that one. "Black, one with lots of sugar, the other plain."

"Sure thing." As she busied herself with their orders, she glanced at them over her shoulder. "I don't mean to be personal, but is this your first time in this place?"

"Absolutely," L answered.

"Well, my name's Iona," she explained. "There are shows every fifteen minutes, up on the podiums and main stage. Basically, stay hygienic, look but don't touch, and if you want to book anything afterwards, talk to the owner of this place, Harriet Long. I'll take you to her office."

"Thank you…?"

"The next show is in about three minutes. It's a real treat today. Got an extra special number."

L cleared his throat as Iona placed a cup of coffee in front of both him and his especially wary guardian. She noticed him looking and was taken aback; his gaze was not the usual one of awe, admiration or flirtation. There was a seriousness she was definitely not used to there.

"I was wondering if you be able to assist me with a certain matter-" he began.

She groaned. "I told you, speak to Harry."

"Are you familiar with a young woman by the name of Sara Kelly?"

At this question, she could not help but laugh weakly. "Yeah," she breathed, "yeah, I know her."

"I need to speak to her as a matter of dire importance. If she will be around at some time, I would appreciate it if you could pass my name on to her. It is a very delicate situation and needs to be handled with the utmost-"

"Look, sir…"

"Ryuzaki."

"Ryuzaki," Iona grinned, "she's here now. Just you keep an eye out."

"What do you-?"

He heard the lights switch on and begin humming behind him. He and Watari turned around to face the main stage, a bombastic beat booming through the speakers surrounding them. Girls were very quickly on stage, dancing behind the lead singer, who had thick blonde hair. Thankfully, she was dressed in a coat that protected her modesty – oh, wait, no, false alarm. She was just as scantily dressed as the rest of them.

Now L narrowed his eyes, there was something familiar about the singer. The hair, probably. When they had finished one of the most dynamic dances he had ever seen, it hit him with the force of a logistics truck. The eyes were unmistakably the same ones that had been masked by blue the previous night, and by God, they were alive with a fire he couldn't quite identify, having not had the most normal of teenage years.

Watari coughed discreetly. "Well, that was certainly interesting."

"The blonde."

"I beg your pardon?"

L made an effort not to look at the older man. "The blonde woman is Sara Kelly."

"Good luck, honey," Iona laughed. "You go to bed with Solène, it's still not Sara Kelly you wake up with."

* * *

><p><em>Sara isn't exactly garnering Watari's approval, and I doubt at this stage that she will. Thanks to all of my reviewers and subscribers:<em>

**Aoi Heart, evil neko. x, GothicGoddess-13, I'm fluent in Google translate, ImagineSweeter, Redwolfvirus, secretlovers, The Night's Wish, The Uncut Diamond, Aoi Nami-chan, Aya Ayame, mwaetht, xxMAILxxJEEVASxx, YuyaYunka, theheartstourniquet, Rukia **_and, of course, as always, _**Akai-M.**

_Phew! Glad I got through that. It's nice to know you're reading, and I thought it'd be a good idea to shout out for you all, the ones who keep me writing, as a sort-of Christmas present. _

_Merry Christmas if I don't get another chapter out in time!_

_C._


	6. Breakthru

_If I could only reach you  
>If I could make you smile<br>If I could only reach you  
>That would really be a breakthrough<em>

- 'Breakthru' by Queen

Sara made her way through the bustling crowds toward the bar and adjusted her shirt. Having just gotten changed out of her last costume, she was glad to be in something more comfortable. Iona was behind the bar preparing a tray of drinks for her to take to the customers, however inclined her head in Watari and L's direction pointedly.

"Well done, sugar," Iona grinned. "You did great. Harry will have you up there again in no time."

"I'll stick with waitressing for a bit, Iona," she laughed. "Can't leave you on your own every single time somebody drops out, can I?"

"Miss Kelly?"

Sara turned around and spotted L, eyes widening in disbelief. Her expression was one of pleasant surprise as she hastily attempted to drag her fingers through her tousled blonde hair. She smiled politely at him before throwing an anxious glance over at Iona, who looked like she was about to crack up in uncontrollable hysterics.

"It's you," she said breathlessly. "Wow. Uh… how did you find me?"

"It is not particularly difficult to find somebody in a phone book, Miss Kelly," L answered.

She slapped her forehead, feeling foolish. "Of course!" she muttered. "Well, I guess it's nice to see you again. I didn't really think that this place was your sort of establishment."

"This is my colleague, Watari," L gestured toward the older man, who leant forward to shake Sara's hand in a manner so civil it was almost… dismissive. "Is there a quiet, private place, perhaps, where we will be able to talk?"

"Um… come with me, both of you. I'm borrowing a friend's dressing-room at the moment. It's a lot less noisy back there." She beckoned the pair of men to stand and smiled at Iona. "Do you reckon you'll be all right for a short without me, Iona?"

"You go ahead, Posh."

Sara nodded and led Watari and L through the gap in the bar so they could get behind it. She warned them to watch their steps because of how narrow the staircase was before guiding them up the stairs to Teri's (and now her) dressing-room. Slightly embarrassed, she threw her coat over the clothes rack that held all of her less-than-savory garments for the numbers she had been obliged to perform that day. Turning to face the two of them, she sat down with the mirror behind her.

"So, gentlemen, how can I help you?"

"This is a sensitive subject, Miss Kelly, and before we proceed, we would need your confirmation that you would not leak any dangerous information should you reject the proposition we are here to make," Watari said formally. "Do you understand?"

"Okay, I understand," she mumbled, clearing her throat. God, what the fuck had she gotten herself into? Were they drug lords or something, unlikely as that situation was? "What is it?"

"Ryuzaki here has a very dangerous and important job," Watari explained, "that requires him to have a successor. There are some children who are being raised to help find the perfect choice. However, choosing a successor has become unnecessarily problematic. We would prefer to have Ryuzaki pass on his title to his own biological offspring."

"Whoa, wait a second," Sara said in a rush. Suddenly she was on her feet. "Are you saying that this is some royal conspiracy, that he has to have… an heir or something? What is this?"

"I would like it if you would be the surrogate mother for my child in case I die," Ryuzaki admitted.

Fuck, if that wasn't blunt, she didn't know what was. Shakily, she dropped back into her chair, gripping the armrest for support. "You are kidding me, aren't you? This isn't real? I mean, there's no way this is happening. This doesn't happen to real people."

"Miss Kelly, please compose yourself," Watari told her. "I know this must be a shock for you, but this is no joke. Ryuzaki is the world's number one detective, and therefore is taking innumerable risks by even approaching you personally. All medical expenses would be accounted for, and you would receive a handsome sum in compensation. Six figures at least."

She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. "Oh, shit," she sighed. "I thought you were such a nice guy… why would you try to buy a kid?"

"I can't imagine that your current… occupation… pays particularly well, Miss Kelly," Watari pointed out. "This money could set you up for life."

"I…" she choked out.

She turned away from them in her chair and faced the mirror, bowing her head – that is, until she spotted movement in the mirror. She lifted her eyes to see Jenny and Harry in the doorway. They could see her upset and immediately walked into the room to give the two men pieces of their minds. Harry faced up to Watari and Ryuzaki whilst Jenny went to put a protective arm around Sara.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Harry's voice became almost sarcastic on the word, 'gentlemen'. "As much as we appreciate your patronage, I do not appreciate you upsetting my employees. Please go downstairs and wait with the other clients should you want an audience with one of them."

"Miss Kelly-" L started.

"I… I can't do what you're asking, Mr. Ryuzaki," she murmured softly, avoiding his eyes. "Please go back downstairs."

Jenny's eyes were filled with an expression that was undeniably violent. Things would get nasty if he didn't leave at the double.

"I-"

"You heard her," Harry said fiercely. "Downstairs. Now."

Deciding it was not worth incurring Harriet Long's wrath for one last plea, L and Watari headed back down into the main bar. They received a puzzled look from Iona prior to her returning to serving drinks. The two weaved their path back to the car that waited for them outside.

Seemingly, L's theory of picking someone who had little to lose had failed… quite spectacularly. With none of the others had he managed to encourage a tear. Although he was incapable of voicing the emotion, he felt like a right shit. Deep down in an area of his brain that might be in touch with his actual feelings, he knew he shouldn't have let Watari do all of the talking. He should have asked her on his own.

The problem with L was not that he would behave insensitively. No, the problem was that he would behave like a prick _repeatedly_ and still not quite comprehend that a 'no' meant 'no', and a rejection did not translate into automatic remorse. Today his stubbornness was not about to let up, and his determination to have Sara Kelly accept his proposition was made even stronger. She was now his challenge.

And God knows he never backed down from a challenge.

**XXX**

The outlet centre was full of shoppers trying to grab the latest fall bargains. For Jenny and Sara, it was a source of therapy, where they could make themselves look especially pretty and then go for a coffee together. Nobody would guess by looking at them that they were in fact prostitutes. Jenny donned a warm orange dress left over from summer, in addition to brown suede boots and a brown jacket. Sara, on the other hand, wore blue and white.

The two of them finished up in the nearest clothes store to Starbucks before heading off to sit down in the world-famous coffee shop. They had avoided talking about the reason that they were there all day. Now it was time to spill the metaphorical secret beans.

"You gonna open up to me, Posh?" asked Jenny, sipping her latte.

Sara kneaded her eyes with her knuckles exasperatedly. "Do I have to?" she whined.

"Yes. You have no choice." The brunette pointed to herself. "Best friend, aka nosy bitch, wishes to know all. Open book ready to write."

"Okay, okay," Sara sighed. "That guy yesterday, the young one, he was the one at Sammy's. The one who didn't know what my job really was." Jenny opened her mouth to interrupt. "Nope – no butting in. Let me finish. He told me he was this big important figure, and he needed a successor or something." Remembering her promise, she was careful not to give too much away. "Then he told me he wanted me to… to… to have his kid for him."

Jenny's jaw almost dropped to the floor. "Uh huh. Wasn't expecting that. Nope. Not ever."

Sara shrugged, trying not to smile at her friend's reaction. "Neither was I."

"Fuck. Uh. Wow." She gulped down the hot coffee without thinking. "That's serious, Posh."

"He offered to pay me," Sara confessed, shaking her head in disapproval. "Six figures."

"Why didn't you take it?" Jenny gasped. "I would've! Jesus Christ. It's not like he's not attractive either. He's cute, in a weird sort of way. I'd tap that in a second. I mean, the freaky ones are always awesome in bed."

"Jenny-"

"What?" she said, laughing. "A bit of TLC and he could be sexy as fuck."

"But what about the ethics of it? Buying a kid?"

"It's like adoption except you're carrying the child, Sara," Jenny said. "That's what happens with surrogate mothers sometimes. You could always just have his kid and then he happens to give you money afterwards. It's no different than what you do for a living, Posh. You sell yourself, let's be honest." She poked Sara in the side, setting her off laughing. She mock-gasped. "You slut!"

She winked. "Absolutely."

"Come on, you blonde tart," Jenny teased. "I want to get those high-heels we saw earlier. They'll make me at least five foot seven!"

They set off together, venturing once more into the sea of people. They were reaching the set of escalators when Sara heard someone saying her name, distantly. She slowed and frowned, listening more intently this time. Yes, that's right, she wasn't imagining it. There was somebody calling her name. 'Kelly'. Jenny tugged her through the worst of the mass until they were at the side of the main hall. Suddenly, Sara stopped.

"Hey, Sara, is that-?" Jenny started.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," she muttered.

"You can't deny, annoying as he is, that guy has _timing_," Jenny snickered.

"Miss Kelly," L said, finally making it through the multitude. "I understand that what we said upset you yesterday, but it is my wish that I right it. I would like to ask you, from one person to another, to consider the proposition."

Sara rolled her eyes, walking further into the crowds again. This time, L was close on her tail.

"You really don't get it, do you, Mr. Ryuzaki?" Sara said over her shoulder. "When I said 'no' yesterday, that's exactly what I meant by it. Not 'maybe', not 'I'll think about it'. It was a definite _no_."

"See, Miss Kelly, I have not yet given up hope."

"Why?" she demanded, rounding on him to his astonishment.

He took a wary step back and remained immoveable despite the pushy people surrounding him. His eyes were severe. "Because you hesitated. Miss Kelly, you said you were completely against the idea of being a surrogate mother, but I noticed that you cannot be one hundred percent against it, because you hesitated. You paused before answering. You were genuinely thinking about it."

"This is absolutely ridiculous-" she protested. She turned away, however was unable to walk away from him because he had taken her hand. Surprise morphed into horror when she realized he had dropped down onto one knee.

"Come on," he said. "Please."

"Oh, how sweet!" an older woman cooed. "A proposal!"

Oh, so that was his tactic? He was going to guilt her into doing it? With the entire outlet centre watching, she couldn't give him an outright no. She could feel many pairs of eyes on her, eagerly awaiting her response. Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, she uttered one word loud enough for L to hear.

"Yes."

There was a collective cheer as L stood. Awkwardly, Sara pretended to embrace him, wanting to elbow him in the gut for the self-assured smirk that faintly passed over his face. Once the moment was over, shoppers returned quickly to their business.

"I knew you would say yes."

"For someone whose emotional understanding is probably that of a chimp's, you're very manipulative, aren't you?" Sara pointed out.

"I prefer 'persuasive'."

"I bet you do."

L's lips twitched upwards at the corners. "Very well. I shall have you collected from work when your shift finishes tonight. Wear something nice."

Sara was not quite sure how to respond, so she said nothing at first. Internally, she was slapping the shit out of herself. Eventually, she nodded and forced a smile.

"Okay. See you later."


	7. Hang On In There

_Don't be a fool you haven't reached your peak  
>You got a fast car racing up inside you<br>Your life is incomplete  
>Hang on in there hang on in there<em>

- 'Hang On In There' by Queen

Jenny had not stopped bugging Sara about this new 'assignment' since she had agreed to it. The entire notion of it sounded silly and unbelievable, and her best friend had not spared her that reminder, laughing at her expense. She was rather glad to be sitting back in front of the mirror in Teri's dressing-room again, in familiar surroundings.

She carefully wiped away the remnants of her red lipstick with a makeup pad, as if she were cleaning herself off ready to take on the world's harsh realities again. Actually, she liked not having to wear makeup. She was more herself when with a clear complexion. For 'Ryuzaki's' instructions of wearing something nice, she applied only eye makeup, and lightly at that, with shimmering silver eyeshadow and some mascara.

As she tied her hair up into a neat ponytail, she spotted a figure lurking in her mirror. Her heart dropped into the soles of her shoes. Of course she knew that person. She would have been absurdly stupid not to have known him. Sporting a cap and white tracksuit, Paul Marshall stepped into full view. His jaws closing repeatedly around the days-old chewing gum in his mouth could be heard easily from where Sara was sitting.

"Hello, babe," he sneered. "You've been slacking again. This is the second time I've had to come to see you in person."

"Come now, Paul," Sara said dryly, "I'm sure it's just because you like coming to visit me."

His fist slammed down on the table in front of her, causing her to flinch back. "That job I got you a couple of nights ago, Sara, I want the money. This ain't a fucking charity. Pay me what you owe me."

She stood up, putting simple silver studs in her ears and turning her back on him. "I don't owe you anything, Paul, because there _wasn't _anything. The job was a dud, all right? There's no money."

"If you're lying to me…" he growled.

"I'm not," she insisted. "You put my ad in the wrong bloody column. 'Private detection'! You really fucked up that one. I'm not paying you for anything, because there's nothing. And you didn't keep your end of the bargain. You get me good jobs, you get good pay."

"I might rethink that deal if you screw me over with anything, babydoll," he threatened.

Sara stopped and considered the indirect edge to his words. He was right: if she was incapable of bringing him back any cash, she knew what he could do to her. Girls like her had been thrown to gangs and left to starve for less than what she had done. As easy as it was to get hold of money from horny politicians and bank managers, it was even easier to lose it all. Hooking was still hooking, and if you ran with dogs, you shouldn't be surprised if you got a few bites.

She knew every time she was handed the wad of notes, she was selling a part of herself she could not get back. Not wanting to be seen as weak, she said none of this to Paul. Instead, she pulled her jacket around her shoulders and turned her back on him.

Downstairs at the bar, Iona looked to be ruthlessly interrogating Ryuzaki, to which Sara face-palmed, embarrassed. Naturally, he looked relieved to see her arrive. Iona raised a finger at him, halting him before he could approach the blonde. "Oh, nu-uh, wait there, mate," she warned. She surprised them both by jumping up over the bar to join them.

"We should probably go," Sara put in quickly.

"Wait," Iona insisted. She processed the two, then pushed them into place so that they stood awkwardly side by side. Her lips turned up at the corners. "You guys are such a freakin' weird couple, I swear to God."

"No, we're not a couple," Ryuzaki corrected her.

"Business partners, friends with benefits, fuck buddies, I don't care," Iona shrugged.

"Watari is in the car outside," L informed Sara hastily, and nudged her with his elbow in the direction of the door. She nodded, trying not to laugh.

"You don't deserve her sweet ass, Ryuzaki, I'm warning you!" Iona called after them, prior to wolf-whistling. "She is hotter than anything you've probably ever set hands on! Watch him, Posh-!"

The car was undoubtedly one of the most luxurious she had ever set foot in, and that was saying something. Being a whore did not mean that you were rented out only to seedy, poor clients. In fact, rather the opposite. She had almost been caught up in a scandal involving a prominent British politician when one of the other girls participating had tried to sell the story to a tabloid – ironically, the tabloid that Ryuzaki had found her advertisement in.

Nothing much could be said on the way to the hotel they would be having dinner at, although ordinarily a gentleman would have commented on his companion's choice of attire or hoping that she liked the food that would be served at the meal they were attending.

Instead, what she got was: "Why do they call you Posh?"

"You what?"

"Everyone at the club, I hear them addressing you by the name of Posh. Clearly that is not your real name, nor is it an abbreviation of Sara or Kelly. So what is it that means they call you that?" he elaborated, speaking slowly and in a monotone as if he thought her terribly stupid.

"Oh," she mumbled. She cleared her throat. "Most of the girls I… work with… uh… they come from the less wealthy boroughs of London, or from the… um… less savory… parts of other cities, like Bristol or Birmingham or Liverpool, but me, my family was middle class. I came from Westminster. Dad was an accountant and Mum was a housewife."

"I see. So they believed you to be… 'posh' because of your former background?" He frowned. "I still find it difficult it to comprehend how a young lady from Westminster, most likely with extremely supportive family and higher expectations, enters prostitution eighteen years old."

"We'll leave that one for another time, shall we?" she said firmly.

"What is the problem with speaking of it-? I shall have to thoroughly research your origins to ensure-"

"All right, Ryuzaki," Sara said. "I'm going to teach you a few rules about women. I know this is going to be difficult, since clearly you have never spent more than thirty minutes in the company of a real woman. So here we go. One: when we say a conversation is over, it ends pretty damn fast. Two: we are not wrong. Ever. Even when you _think _we're wrong, that's just because we want you to think it. Three: when a woman says she's fine, it often means things could be better. And four, though I don't think this will ever be of use to you: pick-up lines don't work."

"I am quite frankly surprised that there are only four rules," he admitted.

"Oh, there's a hell of a lot more than just four," Sara explained, "but you're still only in basic training, and haven't even graduated past puberty-worthy understanding of females yet. You may get there, you may not. I'm thinking maybe not…"

"Do not underestimate me. I am considerably more intelligent than you presume."

She smiled, raising an eyebrow. Her voice was annoyingly sarcastic. "I'm _sure _you are."

Her control of the situation she found herself in was short-lived. The extravagant and expensive-looking hotel, adorned with satins and gilt, put a lump in her throat again as she remembered what she was doing there. She and Ryuzaki followed the older man, Watari, through to the elevator, instead of going to the restaurant. Okay, she had not been expecting that they would be ordering room service. At least in public, she would have had buffers to witness if things got out of hand.

Food had already arrived, having been ordered beforehand. The table in Ryuzaki's suite was pleasantly laid out.

She noticed that in the seat Ryuzaki took there was only confectionary. Seriously, was that all he ate? Was it any wonder he looked so wired, unable to sleep, with all the sugar in his system? Damn, he'd been asking her whether she had any diseases, and he was probably diabetic. What a fucking hypocrite.

"So, Miss Kelly? I see Ryuzaki managed to persuade you to dine with us," Watari remarked amicably.

"Oh?" she said. "'Persuade' is the word he used, was it?"

"He inferred something of the sort," Watari smiled. "I wondered if it may have been other reasons, seeing as Ryuzaki has never been a particularly conventional person."

"So that's what they're calling it these days," Sara murmured.

"Are you enjoying your wasabi beans, Miss Kelly?" Watari interjected, hoping to diffuse the tension.

She attempted to pick one up with the chopsticks provided, only to find that it shot out of her grasp into the old man's glass of water. Biting her lip, she placed the chopsticks to one side and her hands, folded, in her lap.

"Slippery little suckers, aren't they?" she mumbled.

"I suppose." He finished a mouthful of food before speaking again. "About what you have been asked to do, Miss Kelly-"

"Please, just call me Sara."

"Sara," he repeated, "I am sure we would all prefer the utmost discretion. I am afraid you will have to sign a confidentiality agreement stating you cannot give anyone outside of the allowed parties the full details of your condition. Obviously, you will be able to tell them you are pregnant, but you will not be able to tell them exactly why."

"Speaking of, _I'm _not exactly sure why," she confessed. "Things have been pretty… crazy, I guess. I got the basics. You know – get pregnant without sex, have a baby, hand it over to… number one detective? How do you even quantify that?"

"Yes, well," Ryuzaki began, "I will have you know that the reason you are to be carrying a child in the first place, should you ultimately agree, is that it will be used as a successor in the case of my death. So once you've had the child, you would not have to deal with me again."

She stared at him wide-eyed, then nodded. "Go on."

"My name is L," he told her, "not Ryuzaki, though you should address me by that name at all times when I see you in public, and sometimes even in private. In my line of work, death is an occupational hazard, and it was Watari's idea some years ago that I have a successor in place to carry on my work after my death. Your role would be merely providing a channel through which that goal can be achieved."

"What will happen to the kid?" she asked. "I mean, once I've had it? Where will it go? Will you look after it?"

Ryuzaki, unnerved by the question, though retaining composure, glanced at Watari, who shook his head. "Ryuzaki will not look after the child. He or she will go to an orphanage to be raised."

"Wait a second." Her expression was one of pure disbelief. "You're going to father a child, and then you're not going to see it?"

"Well-"

"I'll do it," she announced.

"Excuse me?" Ryuzaki asked, face unchanging.

"You must be seriously deranged if you think I'm going to let you impregnate anyone who may not give a shit," she snapped. "If a kid is being brought into this world, which is already screwed up enough as it is, then I am not letting it come into the world without someone being ready to care for it, _especially_ if its father is a suspiciously raccoon-like detective."

"You are agreeing to the proposal?"

"On a couple of conditions, firstly that I get to look after the baby once its born, at least for a little while, so that it doesn't get shipped off to some foreign orphanage the moment it's out of me. And secondly…" She inhaled, hoping that she wouldn't regret her decision. "That you" – she pointed to Ryuzaki – "have input in your baby's life, both prior to its birth and after."

'_Forcing him to take responsibility,' _Watari thought. _'I was wrong. I could grow to quite like this young woman.'_

The dark-haired man gritted his teeth, trying not to let Sara see how much this latter condition irritated him. He was young, he was free… and she was going to anchor him to her situation. After a couple of moments' consideration, he nodded.

"Very well. I am willing to keep to your conditions."

"And I'm willing to keep to yours, Not-Ryuzaki," she said triumphantly.

"I suppose you may call me L now."

There was a wry smile on her face.

"What?" he asked.

"I knew you would say yes."

"And you called me manipulative," he grumbled.

* * *

><p><em>I know that I've been away for a long time, and I apologise, but I get the feeling that the next few chapters will really make up for it. I'm going to ask you to answer a question in your reviews that I need should I update sooner this time: should this fic have fluff, or more cynical humor? I already have the ending sorted out either way, so I hope you enjoy the chapter and THANK YOU to all of those who have stuck with the story; I know it's frustrating!<em>

_C._


	8. Tie Your Mother Down

_Tie your mother down  
>Tie your mother down<br>Lock your daddy out of doors  
>I don't need him nosin' around<em>

- 'Tie Your Mother Down' by Queen

Sara swallowed, processing her surroundings anxiously. The man that entered the room with her was in his thirties with pale red hair and brown eyes, and he donned a white coat, clearly indicating his profession. She knew him as Dr. Crichton. His smile was genial enough, and it was that expression that relaxed her somewhat despite the severe atmosphere. She knew the truth from his face. She was pregnant now.

"Sara Kelly," he said, "you're going to be a mother. Congratulations."

So that was it. No pulling out now. She'd dug herself a deep, deep hole from which there was no return.

"Everything okay?" she mumbled.

"Yeah, yeah, no worries," he insisted. "None of your tests indicated any illness, genetic, sexually transmitted or otherwise. You're a healthy young mother-to-be with no issues revealing themselves as of yet." He grinned at her and patted her hand. "So who's the lucky feller, then?"

She pressed her lips together to stop herself laughing. _Lucky_. Yeah, so lucky she had him hanging around the clinic somewhere in the presence of multiple pregnant or excessively hormonal women. God. Now she _was _one of the pregnant women. She turned to get off of the leaning chair and shook Crichton's hand in thanks. They both flinched at the crash that came from outside, in the waiting room.

L was standing behind a coffee table that had been flipped over, magazines splayed across the floor and a pot plant up-ended in a mess on the ground. He held his hands out, almost in surrender, whilst a flustered secretary made to rearrange the magazines. Sara rolled her eyes and face-palmed.

"I'm… I'm not even going to ask." She shrugged. "In case you're interested, I'm pregnant with your child, but y'know, it's not such a big deal, I'll come back later…"

He exhaled in a quick gust of breath. "Yes, yes. We should get out of – leave. We can return for your eight-week scan."

"Oh!" a stunned woman exulted. She looked to be about twenty-four weeks, and at the idea that L was indeed a human instead of an emotionless creation grown in a Petri dish, she brightened. "Darling, that's lovely. How far gone are you?"

Sara smiled politely. "About half an hour, actually."

The woman's husband gave a low whistle, impressed as he eyed L. "That's some real fast work there."

**XXX**

The car journey that followed their visit to the clinic was astonishingly quiet. Sara kept glancing down at her abdomen in disbelief, L hugging his knees like his legs would drop off otherwise. As they turned a corner, the blonde finally plucked up the courage to initiate conversation. Watari did not comment, instead only observing.

"So," she mumbled, "what was that about with the coffee table? In the clinic?"

"She just surprised me," he replied curtly.

"Pregnant women a phobia of yours? What'd she do, just happen to turn around and knock you with her stomach or something?" she laughed. When he didn't respond, she sniggered. "No way."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No. Just no."

"I'm afraid the only one who understands your cryptic form of speech is you, Miss Kelly, would you care to elaborate as to what you find so amusing?" he demanded.

"You!" she chuckled. "Oh my God, pregnancy scares you… that is priceless."

"Pregnancy doesn't scare me," he snapped.

"Right, give me your hand, then," she instructed.

The scowl that graced his features was immediate and full of contempt. "I do not think that is such a good idea. It's silly -"

"Then humor the silly little whore and give her your hand," she sighed.

Finally, he conceded, holding out his palm, which she took in both of hers and placed carefully over her abdomen. She very calmly held his hand there so that he wouldn't panic and retract it, maintaining eye contact with him. They remained frozen in that position, silent, for a few minutes.

"Oh," she murmured quietly. "I see. It's not pregnancy that scares you. It's women."

He pulled his hand away. "Your house is just around the corner, Miss Kelly. You can get out in a minute."

"Actually, I'll be dropping both of you off," Watari interjected politely. "I have already taken the time to prepare accommodations suitable for the two of you at Miss Kelly's house."

Sara choked on her words. "Sorry, you did _what_? He's not staying in my house! Didn't you say you were staying at some kind of hotel? The one we had dinner in that first time? There was nothing that implied-"

"You told us that one of your conditions to having this child, which as you so concisely pointed out, is now growing inside of you, was that L takes responsibility as a parent. Part of this is behaving as an adult to provide the child with a stable environment, and you getting along is conducive to that. You mustn't worry; I'm but a phone call away." He opened the door for them. "And this is part of _your _contract, Miss Kelly. What is the saying…? 'You've made your bed, now lie in it.'"

How horribly appropriate the phrase seemed now, and so reluctantly, the two clambered from the vehicle and approached Sara's front door. She threw cautious glances over her shoulder to verify that no nosy neighbours were observing their arrival. What was this anxiety? She had never fretted so much when she was returning at all hours of the night after a client's session. Maybe it was because this man, unlike the others, was going to be a more permanent fixture.

As the door swung open, revealing her pale yellow painted hallway, various girly coats hung up on hooks attached the stairs and photographs on the walls, Sara couldn't help but feel somewhat exposed. This was her life, this house, more so than the various homes of the clients she frequented, or the dressing rooms she occasionally occupied. She noted that all of her dishes had been washed, her dirty clothes washed and ironed, her living room tidied and the shoes she'd chucked onto the stairs put away neatly. Watari had done more than moved L's possessions. He'd assimilated him into her home.

"Your house is very… nice," he tried dryly.

"Oh, come on, you know this isn't me," she muttered. "I'm a whore, remember? I like things _dirty_."

The living room was just left of the stairs, its cream carpet vacuumed within an inch of its life. The two red fabric sofas had never looked so appealing, though Sara did not have a strong desire to share a sofa with the man standing beside her.

"What's wrong with you?" she snapped, observing his blank expression.

"It's just that… I'm not entirely used to being in an ordinary house. I've never lived anywhere like this before."

Her face immediately softened as guilt began to eat away at her. Of course. Watari wasn't just his employee or his advisor. She had seen the way that he treated L. He was his _guardian_, meaning L obviously had no parents to speak of, or at least not parents that had been fit to look after him. In that way, they shared a kind of similarity. Both of her parents were still alive, though. She couldn't imagine a life when they were merely _not there _anymore.

"Do you want to have a look around?" she asked politely. "You may as well if you're really going to be staying for nine months."

"And if you're pregnant."

When he looked up at Sara's face, he came to the conclusion that she couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or grimace, so she settled on both. "Yeah. And since I'm pregnant." It was a moment before either of them broke the silence. Sara clapped her hands together and gestured toward the kitchen. "I'll make us some tea. You take sugar?"

For some reason, this made the corners of his lips peak. "We clearly have a lot to learn about one another."

**XXX**

The first night was not as terrible as they had expected, seeing as they were making a clear effort not to anger each other. Sara theorized it was partially because he was still a little anxious about the hormones rushing through her due to her newfound pregnancy. Admittedly, it had been quiet. Dinner had been taken separately, followed by Sara having a shower and going to bed. She hadn't been able to stop marveling at her perfectly flat stomach in the floor-length mirror, waiting for the terrifying bump to form.

However, the next morning was not to remain so peaceful. Exhausted from the previous day's events, she was awoken at half-past seven in the morning, light barely peeking through her curtains. Upon seeing the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock, she growled in frustration. The grinding noise downstairs – the cause of her early rising – did not cease, and so, grudgingly, she swung her legs out of bed, pulled on her dressing-gown and trudged downstairs to the kitchen.

L stood innocently by the blender.

"Switch it off!" she told him.

"I beg your pardon?" he called over the noise of God knows what churning around in the blender.

"I _said,_ switch it off!" she shouted. Her hands flailed wildly with her gestures, and it appeared it was only this he comprehended. Shrugging, he pressed the button to turn it off. She slapped her forehead. "What the hell do you think you're doing? It's half-seven in the morning. I was _sleeping_."

"I gave you enough of a lie-in," he defended himself. "Besides, you should not sleep too late, or you will not sleep in the evenings properly."

"Sorry, you think half-past seven is a _lie-in_?"

"I'm an insomniac."

"Of course you are…" she sighed. "Jesus…" Something caught her attention. "What is that?"

"It's a nutritional drink. For you. Watari came by and dropped some things off this morning, and said I should give them to you when you woke up." He failed to mention that it was he who had woken her up. He poured the peach-colored mix into a glass on the counter. "Drink it, then."

All right. He was making an effort. She appreciated that. Gingerly, she extended her hand to grasp the glass. Unable to help herself from watching him out of the corner of her eye, she gulped down some of the mix – before promptly spitting it out again in undisguised disgust.

"What the _bloody hell _was _that_?" she shrieked.

"I believe it a concoction based on tea, hormonal supplements, prenatal vitamins and blended pineapple segments," he said smugly. "You have to drink it. Surely you can't be selfish enough not to drink something that will benefit your baby?"

"It's _our _baby, you dick, and so far it's nothing more than a cluster of cells; it's been one day!" she barked. "You put all of that into one smoothie?"

"Evidently." He remained innocent. "It's for the good of _our _child, as you rightly said."

"Ooh," she murmured. "You're clever, you are. Very, very clever. This is good, isn't it? You get me to do annoying things for 'the good of our baby'? Oh, that's slick. You know what? I'm a responsible adult, and I'm going to be the bigger person. Give me the drink that looks like dog sick. I'm going to be making sure this kid doesn't come out of me ending up fucked up like you."

If there was anything L was learning to do quickly, it was manipulating others into doing what he wanted them to do. He watched with triumph as Sara chugged down the smoothie and slammed it back down on the counter. She looked like she was going to vomit, but she'd done it.

"The fun part is that you get to do that again tomorrow," he smirked.

"The fun part is I get to beat your arse to death if this child is deformed in any way," she returned the smirk. "Oh, shit, I need something to get this taste out of my mouth… and I _know _bad tastes…"

Swallowing back bile, she headed toward the fridge and opened the door. L exhaled slowly as she shut it again with a squeak. She opened it. Then closed it. Then opened it. Then closed it. Then looked back at him with a face like a tired question mark.

"What… were those?"

"Those were semen samples in a rape case I am solving."

"There are jars of semen in my fridge."

"Correctly observed."

"Right." She nodded to herself. "I've made a decision. I am now no longer using my fridge. God knows where those little swimmers have gotten."

"Semen does not penetrate Perspex-"

"Hey, I'm pregnant, and if they can get to me, they can get anywhere."

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for such a long hiatus, but I've been bogged down with exams and other important things. Not that it matters. Okay. So, I've been sharing updates with this and my other ongoing story, Red Alert. Hopefully, next time won't take so bloody long!<em>

_Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review, as it absolutely makes my day in a time of horrible GCSEs!_

_Cheers._

_C._


	9. If You Can't Beat Them

_Rumor has it that you can play dirty  
><em>_I'll tell you what I'll do about that, that, yeah  
><em>_I'm playin' them at their own game, yeah!_

- 'If You Can't Beat Them' by Queen

**September 2001**

Jenny had not heard from her best friend for at least a week. This much was unusual in itself. What was stranger, however, was the fact that nobody else excepting Iona thought this peculiarly out of character for the bouncy blonde. Harry, when approached, had made some cryptic comment about life moving on and going forward according to what people really wanted, and this, needless to say, pissed her off.

She had, as women frequently do, overanalyzed the situation to the point where she'd imagined that Sara was being held hostage by a terrorist cell, ensuring that she had absolutely no contact with her friends or colleagues. Harry was of course unable to explain the situation to anyone else because her knowledge of the terrorists put her under threat. Shortly after this theory came to light in Jenny's mind, she purposefully hit her head against her bedroom wall. She knew the best thing to do would be to pluck up the courage to go round to Sara's and ask her straight out what was going on.

Walking over to her house, more ideas flew through her head unbidden: the man that had requested Sara become pregnant with his child, had he caused her damage that Harry did not want Jenny knowing about? Was he a dangerous pervert with a taste for vulnerable, blonde, young women? By the time she reached Sara's home, she was desperate to pound her fists against the door. Despite her urges, she managed to restrain herself enough to gently press the doorbell.

The sight that met her was definitely surprising, considering all of the scenarios she'd conjured up.

Sara donned her most comfortable clothes – a pair of baggy, slightly ripped old jeans and an oversized Led Zeppelin shirt she'd stolen from an ex-boyfriend and never returned to him after their breakup. Her long hair was tied back carelessly and the most bizarre aspect of it was that she was spattered with light yellow paint. Although sometimes a creative person, she never painted. Music was her thing, not art.

"Jenny," she breathed, astonished. "How's it going? All right?"

"Posh, what the hell is going on? I haven't seen you at Viva Loca, or at the shops, or the coffee place, or _anywhere _at all!" she insisted. "Now I turn up, and you look like you've attempted some modern interpretation of Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers'!" She folded her arms, feeling awkward for being there. "I'm worried about you, Sara. Iona is as well; you should've seen her last night. She was whining down the phone to Gemma for hours."

"Yes, well… apologize to Iona's girlfriend on my behalf," Sara mumbled. "Do you want to come in? I was going to make a cup of tea in a minute anyway…"

"You had me at 'apologize'," Jenny smiled weakly.

The two sat down at the kitchen table with their freshly made cups of tea, just two friends having a chat, although the subject was certainly unorthodox.

"So what's with the paint, Picasso?" asked Jenny.

"I… uh… you know that guy, Ryuzaki, who asked me to have his baby?" Sara suggested, and her best friend nodded in response. "Well… I'm going to, like I said I would. Jenny, I'm a week and a bit pregnant."

The squeal Jenny emitted was not the reaction Sara had expected. The brunette threw her arms around her neck and hugged her tight. "You're having a baby! Oh, Sara, this is amazing, I can't believe it!"

"Whoa, calm down," she laughed. "You're not… cross with me?"

"Cross with you? My God, no, why would I be cross with you? I said you should take the bloody job in the first place, and now you're… oh, it's so exciting!" she squeaked enthusiastically. "Can I be godmother? Oh, please, let me be your kid's godmother, I'll spoil them rotten!"

"It's only been a week, Jenny, I've got months left," she reminded her.

"Who gives a fuck? I want dibs on the godparent."

"You know you would be my first choice; that goes without saying." She watched on in delight as Jenny's eyes glowed with happiness at the proclamation. "You can tell Iona that I'm fine. Wouldn't want Gemma dumping her for crying down the phone constantly."

Jenny gestured to her paint-spattered form. "So why the paint? You didn't say."

Sara finished gulping down her tea, wiped her mouth and stood before beckoning her best friend to follow her. It took a moment for Jenny to smile and follow her through the hall and up the stairs to the plain white door of the guest room. In all the years Sara had lived here, Jenny had never seen anything but the room consisting of an unused bed (seeing as guests were uncommon) with all of Sara's junk piled on top of it.

Now the room was clear of any furniture, and the light streamed in through the window. The floor was polished wood, and the formerly mint-green walls were being covered inch by inch in paint the colour of sunshine. In fact, the entire room echoed warmth and brightness. Jenny beamed at the sight. The edges of the floor had been protected by white sheets, and paintbrushes of various sizes were dotted about the room.

"Oh, Sara," she said. "This is lovely. The nursery?"

"Yep." She folded her arms. "It's taking a while, though, considering… well, there's only one of me, and there's this whole room to do."

"How long have you been at it?"

"Um…" Sara thought about it, biting her lip. "I got up this morning at seven o'clock, and then I went out for breakfast because I don't trust _anything _in my fridge, then I came back and played on my piano for a bit when Ryuzaki went to work, then… yeah, I've been painting since about quarter to ten this morning."

"It's midday, Sara!" Jenny gasped. "Right!"

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, girl?" the brunette snapped, rolling up her sleeves and grabbing a paint roller from a tray on the floor. "I'm being a responsible godmother and I'm helping you paint my godchild's nursery!"

Sara couldn't help the grin that worked its way onto her face. Together, the two women painted, Jenny proving to be much more efficient at the job than her friend was. Within an hour, the entire nursery had been painted and another two hours later, they were applying a second coat. They finished their job waiting for the paint to dry with a cup of tea and plate of biscuits in Sara's kitchen. Of course, Jenny's clothes had been splattered with irritating little specks of yellow paint, and so Sara had lent her some jeans and a shirt (too big for her considering her height, yet too small in the bust area).

"This shirt's going to be even tighter if I keep eating these biscuits," Jenny groaned, "but I can't stop… they're just _too good_!"

"Nothing says, 'good work' like a plate of chocolate bourbons."

"Amen to that, sister," Jenny mumbled as she finished off another one. "So what about your baby-daddy, then, eh? Scored pretty well on that one, didn't you?"

"Oh, Jesus," Sara sighed, sipping her tea. "You wouldn't be saying that if you lived with him. He's a total bloody nightmare. You wouldn't believe it. I have no sugar. Seriously. Every time I think, 'actually, a bit of sugar would come in handy right about now', I look and he's bloody eaten it all! Then there's the sleeping thing. He just doesn't do it-"

"Never bothered you before."

"Ugh, shut up. Ryuzaki wakes me up at absurd times of the morning just to drink a stupid hormone smoothie or something, and then he puts weird stuff in my fridge, and he leaves his papers lying around, expecting me to pick them up like I'm his mother. He _rarely _showers. Actually, I don't think I've seen him go into my bathroom since he arrived here, which is disgusting in a number of ways. Oh, and get this! He crouches _all the time_. I can't sit on the sofa next to him; he drives me insane with it…"

"Sounds fun," Jenny chuckled.

"He's not going to last nine months. I'm going to murder him," she warned her.

Jenny only sipped at her tea demurely in response before clearing her throat. "I know that face, Sara Kelly."

"What face?" Sara demanded. "I'm not pulling any face. This is my face."

"Mm-hm," Jenny teased. "No, that's your 'take me now' face."

"It is _not_!"

"Don't shout. High blood pressure is bad for your baby. You know, the baby you're having with the man that you talk about with your 'take me now' face."

"I do _not _have a 'take me now' face," she protested.

"Yes, you do," Jenny laughed. "And it looks like that!"

"I do not have a-"

"Sara?" a familiar voice called as the front door shut. "Is there someone in there with you?"

"Hi," she said quickly, her own voice a couple of octaves higher than normal. It was obvious that Jenny was using all of her restraint so as to not burst into uncontrollable giggles when L entered the room, a puzzled expression evident on his face. "Hi, Ryuzaki. You remember Jenny? From the club?"

"No," he admitted bluntly.

"Oh, charmer," Jenny remarked.

"Jenny helped me finish painting the nursery upstairs," Sara told him. There was an undertone of threat lacing her words, as though warning him to be polite to her or else.

He nodded, uncaring. "All right, then."

Sara's patience was wearing very thin as she grappled for conversation topics he might bother to engage himself in. "So, what kind of case did you work on today?"

Despite some unease at discussing it in front of Jenny, he managed to shrug nonchalantly and respond. "There's been a series of extremely violent cases of rape where the perpetrator has been targeting…" He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "_Prostitutes_…"

Jenny was amused by his awkwardness. "Sounds fascinating."

"You," Sara ordered L, "sit down. I'm going to refill on tea."

"There's more-"

"Sugar, I know, I bought more yesterday evening… after you had a plate of diabetic coma for dinner," she cut him off, moving around the counter so that he could take her seat.

As Sara had predicted, he crouched on the chair with his knees up to his chest and large, dark eyes fixed on the brown-haired woman in front of him. Jenny's eyes strayed to his wacky hair. It reminded her of Edward Scissorhands, though his light skin had no blemishes, let alone scars of the magnitude of the Tim Burton character.

"You have good taste in picking my sweetie Sara over there," Jenny commented. "I don't know what to think about her accepting you, though, so I'm going to make my judgments now."

"Oh."

"Isn't she gorgeous?" Jenny asked, glancing over at Sara heading over to the fridge.

"I… well… she's…"

"Oh, please," Jenny interjected, "she's a stunner. If you've met any woman more naturally attractive than Posh I'll eat someone's hat, since I'm pretty sure I don't own one of my own."

"An odd thing to do."

"So I bet you're proud. Did your family like her when she met them? I bet they did, I mean, who wouldn't-?"

"She has not met my… my _family_," L confessed. "My-"

"She _hasn't met your family_?" Jenny shrieked, really overdoing it just to make the detective jump. Sara snickered. "Call yourself a man? For God's sake, why hasn't she? She should!"

"Jenny's right, Ryuzaki," Sara put in softly. She placed his cup of tea in front of him and pleaded with her eyes. "I would like to meet your family. I should, shouldn't I?"

He grumbled into his cup briefly, then sighed. "Fine. I'll speak with Watari and see what we can arrange."

"That's better," Jenny approved.

L gulped down his tea to cope with the thought of Sara actually meeting the Wammy's children. A moment later, he coughed loudly.

"Sara,_ what_ was in that tea?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about," she said innocently. "I just used some of the _milk _from the _fridge_."

"The fridge?" he repeated. "But that's where I keep the-" He suddenly looked very green.

"That's right, sweetheart," Sara simpered. "Would you like a biscuit with that?"

* * *

><p><em>Thank you very much for everyone who reviewed last chapter, particularly <em>**B. Asterfield; **_you really made my day!_

_I apologise for the lack of L in this chapter for all his fans. There is guaranteed more of him next time as it is the instalment where they will visit Wammy's House in Winchester. For those of you who haven't read "Zapped" or the "LAWLIET" series, it will probably feature OCs from there, because I'm too lazy to think of more OCs, and backstories are nice to make the characters rounded._

_Thanks for reading, and please review if you liked it (or even if you didn't, it's good to see where I can get better)!_

_C._

_P.S. _**I am going to be holding a cover art competition for "The Darwinian Theory", seeing as I can't draw myself. If you would like to participate, message me with a link to your entry (you're allowed more than one), preferably on deviantART. I do have an account with the same pen name as this, so keep an eye out and I'll PM you to tell you I've seen it. The deadline for this challenge, should you choose to accept it, is 1st July 2012. Happy drawing, you arty genii!**


	10. Sweet Lady

_Though it seems like we wait forever  
>Stay sweet baby<br>Believe and we've got everything we need  
>Sweet lady sweet lady<em>

- 'Sweet Lady' by Queen

The gates to Wammy's House loomed over the car Watari was driving in front of a tall, grey, Victorian building, creating in its essence the most intimidating moment of Sara Kelly's life so far. In that second, she regretted severely agreeing to meet L's family. He sat with knees up to his chest beside her in the car, oblivious to how she wrung her hands and tried to control her breathing. She repeatedly cussed under her breath. Everything in her brain screamed at her not to look at the building, or else she would enter a full-scale panic attack.

"Wow…" she muttered. "You… grew up… _here_…"

"I suppose you could say that," he replied.

"You're very… upper-class," she said quietly.

At this remark, L glanced at her. She was staring at her entwined hands, her complexion almost green with anxiety. He brought to memory how Watari had behaved with her on first meeting, and how inferior she must have felt in comparison to such a noted, respectable man. After a pause, he sighed at her. He couldn't deal with her hysteria as well the children's.

"There is nothing to be concerned about," he told her exasperatedly. "You were my choice, and even my opinion of you is insignificant in the long run." This did not seem to appease her, so he shocked her by gripping her chin and forcing her eyes in his direction. "Miss Kelly. Trust me. There is _nothing _about you that should make you feel inferior to anybody here. Or anybody anywhere."

He maintained eye contact with her, hoping that by saying as firmly as possible she might begin to believe what he was saying to her. This was his complete reasoning, and yet, even when he noticed her shoulders relaxing, he did not release her face. Unknown to him, he was frozen, until Watari opened the door to Sara's right and he let go.

"Here we are," Watari announced, gesturing for Sara to get out of the car.

Blinking away her surprise, she turned away from L to clamber through the door and out onto the gravel. The house entranced her. Her lips parted to speak, however no sound could be emitted. Watari patted her shoulder encouragingly. He removed a set of keys from his pocket and was followed by Sara and L up to the front door. Quickly, he turned the keys in the door and pushed it open, revealing a grand staircase and parquet floor leading to several different hallways.

"Home sweet home," he smiled.

"How many times have I told you not to leave the door open, Bess-?" a Scottish voice snapped. A small, round woman with a face that reminded Sara of a marshmallow hurried down the stairs before halting. "Quil! Good God, why didn't you say you were coming?"

"I live here, Maggie," Watari chuckled as the woman he addressed hurtled down the stairs and enveloped him in a warm embrace.

Maggie caught sight of L over Watari's shoulder and beamed. "Oh, and look who's back, the wee troublemaker! Come over here!" Much to L's reluctance, she hugged him tightly. The expression on his face was pure comic gold, at which Sara could not help laughing. "And who's this?"

"Maggie, this is Sara Kelly," Watari explained.

"It's very nice to meet you," Sara put in hastily.

"Oh, darling, but aren't you lovely?" Maggie exulted. "Put a halo on you and I'd think Elliot had caught himself an angel."

"She knows, Maggie," L grumbled.

Maggie's eyes widened in astonishment. "She _knows_?" A warm smile graced the Scot's face. "Well, welcome to the family, then, sweetheart! Come on, you'd better meet the rest of them, they're just having lunch right now…"

They took Maggie's lead and headed down a corridor. Sara turned to L. "Your mum's really nice."

"She's not my mother, Sara," he admitted. "Maggie is the matron here."

"Matron? What do you mean-?" She cut herself off and studied his expression intently. "You're an orphan. This place is an orphanage. That's why when you talked about the baby growing up in an orphanage… oh. I'm so sorry, L, I didn't know-"

"You couldn't have done," he interrupted her bluntly. "I didn't tell you."

"I know, but still-"

"There is no need to look at me in that manner," he said.

"I don't understand…"

"You can apologize, you can smile at me, you can even talk behind my back, but don't you dare pity me," he warned her. "I have no desire for your pity."

"I don't pity you, L-"

"Elliot now," he insisted. "Elliot is what they know me as here."

She chuckled a little. "Suits you."

The hall that they entered was in fact a fancy dining room, the tables laid out casually around with gingham table cloths. Approximately ten chairs could fit around one table, and the moment they stepped across the threshold, all eyes, belonging to roughly one hundred and fifty children, sped to their figures. Several of the young ones jumped up and ran over to hug Watari, who greeted them heartily, and some tackled L by the legs so that he fell over.

"Oh – ow! Hello again," he said. "Deano, Lucy."

The redheaded girl who had clung to his left leg however now was brushing herself off and gaping indiscreetly at Sara. "What's your name?"

"This is Miss Kelly-"

"Sara, my name's Sara," Sara replied.

"She's L's… partner," L attempted to tell the small girl, who was squealing with delight.

"Like a girlfriend? Are you L's girlfriend?" Lucy shrieked. "What's he like?"

L expected Sara to panic and throw him a pleading glance. He already had a cover story prepared about her in fact being one of the detective's researchers. He braced himself to talk on her behalf, yet found the necessity did not present itself. She smiled as though remembering something funny – which, knowing the question, she probably was.

"L is… many things," she murmured, "like stubborn, and childish. He's a workaholic, and he will do whatever he has to in order to get his way." L opened his mouth to interrupt. "But he's all right. Perhaps not a pleasant man, but a good man."

This did not silence all of Lucy's questions, yet left some room for her to breathe. She caught his eye and laughed quietly at his dumbfounded expression. Eventually, he got round to introducing her to all of the children, or at least most of them. He did not miss the older boys staring at her. At this point, he applied his best poker face. He was not sure what to make of the snake coiling in his stomach and the urge in his arms that begged him to punch the lads. A ginger boy put a hand on his arm.

"Cool your jets, Elliot."

"Hello, Matt," L said, clearing his throat.

"You look pissed," Matt chortled.

"Odd observation."

"Is it? Your fists are clenched. So is your jaw. You haven't stopped gawking at those goons over there for about ten minutes. So no, I don't think it's that odd an observation." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know much, but I know it's gotta be hard, liking a girl like that when she's going out with your boss."

L's eyes widened. "No, no, no, there has clearly been a misunderstanding-"

"Okay, whatever," Matt surrendered, holding two palms up. "But I don't know what _you _call it when you light up whenever someone's in the room, when they make you more tolerant and change you for the better." He shrugged. "What would I know? I'm just a kid, right?"

L looked up when Sara turned around, surrounded by children. Resting on her hip was a four-year-old called Millie, who she spun around and laughed with in delight. Even with Jenny he had never seen her smile so openly. One of the kids began tugging on the hem of her shirt and begging her to go bake cakes with them. She glanced over at L, as if asking permission, and he nodded, amused.

The full impact of what the children were asking hit him finally after a minute. Of course; they were baking, so there would be _cake_. And lots of it. If there was one thing he loved, it was cake, and there were approximately ten children all preparing to make several batches. He would be a complete idiot to miss out on this opportunity, and so he followed them into the kitchens, which were clean, white and impressive. At each station was counters, cupboards and an oven, and Sara was helping retrieve ingredients from the highest shelves.

"If you guys start whisking the sugar and butter together, I'll get the flour for you," she told them. Eagerly, every single child nodded and set off to do as she had asked.

"I think you need to have a word with the teachers here," L said, startling her. "A couple of hours and they are obeying your every word, where the teachers have known them years and cannot get them to do anything."

She chuckled and put the large bag of flour down on the wooden table in the middle of the stations. "They're good kids."

"They're little monsters," he contradicted. The children protested, and he shook his head, lips turning up a little at the corners. "No, no, I don't want to hear any complaints. The truth is you're a bunch of troublemakers."

"Everyone's a child once, Elliot."

"Not me."

"Never?" she said.

"Not once." He walked around the table next to her, hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched. "I was born the height I am now with the mind of an adult."

"Not from what I hear," she teased. "I was having a _very _interesting conversation with Maggie about you as a child, Elliot-"

"No…"

"_Yes_, and she told me all about this little blue blanket you used to have when you were a toddler -"

"Miss Kelly, that's enough-"

"And you called it Remy, and you wouldn't let anyone else touch it-"

"Miss Kelly, I'm serious-!"

"And whenever someone tried to take it off you to wash it, you'd scream and throw a tantrum-"

"Sara!" What made her stop talking and the children burst out laughing was that L had picked up a small handful of flour and thrown it at her face. She gasped, blinking the flour away from her eyelashes and picking up a handful herself. L backed away from her, holding his hands up. "Sara… Sara, you don't want to do this, remember, you will regret it…"

"It's worth it!" she resolved, before flapping the flour at him. She immediately couldn't help giggling when she saw his face crusted with flour, the tiny grains of powder stuck to his eyelashes and the tips of his hair.

"This means war."

Very soon, they were having an inevitable flour-fight, flicking it at each other rapidly and laughing at the children's response (which was to gawk in fascination at their behaviour). The action became faster and faster until Sara lost her footing against a slippery kitchen tile and fell. She would have bashed her head on the hard, cold floor had L not caught her quickly.

Breathless, and face inches away from his, she smiled. L's mouth acted before his brain did.

"Falling for me already, I see."

Although she was surprised, she managed to force two words out. "Nice catch."

"Force of habit," he responded, helping her up to her feet again.

Realizing that they had an audience, Sara wiped the flour off her face and hair anxiously. He cleared his throat. She offered her hand for him to shake.

"Thank you," she said as politely as possible.

"You're welcome," he mumbled, shaking her hand.

"Sara," whined a six-year-old boy called Samson, "can you stay the night?"

"Oh, I don't know if I'm allowed," she replied apologetically. She looked at L, whose facial expression betrayed nothing. "Maybe if Elliot could phone L and find out for me…?"

After a pause and a sigh, L nodded. "I'm sure L could efficiently work without you for one evening."

"Thanks," she said warmly. "Come on, then, guys, let's get baking."

He didn't miss the strange look she threw him over her shoulder as she headed toward one of the kitchens. He was certain that if Jenny had been there, she would have been able to identify it for him. Perhaps he would ask her when they returned to London.

* * *

><p><em>I won't waste your time with apologies - I do feel terrible for not updating. I was overwhelmed with GCSEs, prom and then a show I was doing (as Tallulah in "Bugsy Malone"). I honestly can't believe how time has flown by!<em>

_Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter: _**B. Asterfield, Wolfie, jupiter fruit, -chan, Irutah, CC **_and_ **NameWithNoMeaning**_! You are lovely people who made my day with your awesome reviews._

_C._


	11. Dreamer's Ball

_You make my life worthwhile with the slightest smile  
>Or destroy me with a barely perceptible whisper<br>Gently take me remember I'll be dreamin' of my baby  
>At the dreamer's ball<em>

- 'Dreamer's Ball' by Queen

The room Sara had been assigned reminded her of her old bedroom – the classic corkboard decorated with the fragments of a teenage girl's bad behaviour, from photos of girls at a Halloween party to having their first drink; the flowery bunting and fairy lights hanging from the ceiling; the initials of the first boy they'd kissed scratched into the wooden floor with a penknife next to an obviously lovingly etched 'forever'.

If only she had known it wasn't forever. The first was always a time to fall maddeningly into what they thought was love, holding hands in public so friends could claim they thought they were 'a cute couple' and occasionally kissing clumsily where no one could see. But things like this didn't last, not really. Sara of all people had come to that conclusion, and hopelessly had continued to seek that time when you just knew while having loveless sex with other men.

Her mother had referred to it as the Softness. Everything was softer, like however many hits you took, you had a pillow to fall into, yet it made you harder, made you yourself but ten times more potent, and proud to be exactly that. No man had ever, as far as she knew, made her feel the Softness. She wanted to know it, of course she did. She wanted to be able to think of somebody and not be able to help smiling. With that in mind, she sank into her mattress and switched off the childish desk lamp on her bedside table decorated with plastic necklaces.

Two minutes later, there was a gentle knock at the door.

"I can't even get sleep _here_?" she chuckled quietly, switching the light on and sitting up. Her light hair tumbled to her shoulders as she shook her head to wake herself up again, rubbing her eyes free of dust.

"What?"

That wasn't _L's_ voice. Startled, her eyes widened. In the doorway stood a stocky blonde boy in a baggy black Rolling Stones t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama shorts. For some reason she couldn't identify, his sharp blue eyes were narrowed with an irrational spite. That pouting bottom lip she could picture on any dissatisfied child.

"Wrong room?" Sara suggested.

"What, d'you think I'm stupid?" he snapped.

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. "No. Of course I don't."

"Oh, yeah? 'Cause I go _here_?" he sneered.

"No," she responded dryly, "because I don't know you."

The boy tried not to let her reply rattle him. Using her hands, Sara pushed herself on top of her duvet and crossed her legs so she could face him properly, and gestured for him to sit next to her. Immediately, he shook his head in defiance. After a moment's thought, he caved in, shutting the door behind him so they wouldn't be disturbed.

"My name's Sara," she said.

"I know," he grumbled. "You're all anyone's been talking about today. 'Have you met Sara?', or, 'Isn't Sara nice?', or, 'I can't believe she's dating L'. Well, good for you, you've got paparazzi. You've been here, like, five minutes and already you're Miss Popular-And-Well-Liked-And-In-With-The-Big-Guy-And-Everything."

"Ah."

"Don't say that like you know what I'm talking about!" he hissed. "You've probably never known what it's like to have someone not like you. Who do you think you are, waltzing in here and acting like everyone's your friend when you don't know anybody, you don't know anything, and you don't know _me_, okay? Got it?"

She nodded. "I'd like to know you. I generally like to know the name of guys in my bedroom, first off."

Frustrated and embarrassed, the boy's cheeks flushed scarlet. "Mello."

"Mello," she repeated. "All right, then."

Silence. It was only silence in the room say for Mello haphazardly scratching his arm or puffing out his cheeks. Sara counted one minute before she laughed quietly.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. "I don't get it."

"Truth is," she smiled, "I don't get it either. I don't get why you think I'm so special, I'm really not. All of you, you're ten times smarter than me, and I've got life experience on the lot of you. This eight-year-old today was giving me a lecture on the excitement of mitochondria, and I just stared at her blankly, not a clue what she's talking about. Pretty sure that's A level stuff. You guys are fucking amazing, pardon my French. I couldn't work with L in a million years."

"You-?"

"I don't work with him. And I never said I dated him. For such a bright bunch, you jump to a lot of conclusions." She threw back her head with a short, incredulous laugh. "Bloody mental, it really is. I'm not special, I'm not clever, and I'm not as important as you lot. There's no fuss to be made."

"But… but _L _makes a fuss of you."

"Is that why you don't like me?" she asked sadly. "Because one man on the entire planet, out of three point five billion, happens to take an interest in my existence? He's just a man."

"He's not! He's… he's…" Mello trailed off, a flicker of melancholy passing over his features before he regained his voice. "He's everything I've ever wanted to be."

"Most boys want to be a pirate or a fireman before a detective," Sara remarked lightheartedly.

"No offence, but what does he see in you, if you're not special?" he interrupted brusquely, frowning a little.

"Oh God, good question," she murmured. "I don't know, um… breasts?"

Mello sniggered. Evidently, nobody had ever spoken about L that way before.

"Estrogen? Progesterone? You name it, he probably chose me for that," she said, laughing with him. "Listen, Mello, I'm not what you think I am."

"You're just saying that-"

"I sell my body for sex, Mello." She decided to correct herself when she saw his slack-jawed amazement and eyes like tennis balls. "Well, I did. Then I met L."

"You're… you're a _prostitute_?" he gasped.

"Was," she reminded him.

He swallowed something in his throat. "Oh."

This boy had spent his life fighting to be better because he didn't think he was worthy of affection as he was, and here she was, a prostitute, proving just the opposite. If she could be appreciated by someone Mello valued as much as L, he could be cared for just as much. She reached for his hands and clasped them in hers.

"The only way you can ever feel inferior to someone is if you let them make you feel like that, Mello," she insisted.

Unexpectedly, all of a sudden, Mello's arms were around her shoulders and she patted him on the back, accepting the embrace. It must have been at least a minute before they released each other, Mello realizing how awkward things had just become. He quickly got to his feet and headed for the door.

"This didn't happen," he muttered and hurried out.

On his way out, he heard L's voice saying his name questioningly, and bolted. The man in question arrived at Sara's door and she wordlessly beckoned him inside. He closed the door behind him and gestured to the way that Mello had just come.

"I'll tell you later," she chuckled quietly. "Come on in."

He pulled a desk chair slightly closer to her, but did not sit on the bed itself, his knees up to his chest as usual. "I just wanted to say, you did well today."

"Thank you."

"Uh… yes. That's what I wanted to say."

"Okay."

"That's what I thought."

"Yeah."

Sara wondered what expression would be on her face, and how Jenny would identify it. She was sure that it wasn't her 'take-me-now' face. It was warm, not hot; calm, not flustered; satisfied, not frustrated. Somehow, a sense she could only describe as safety settled over her, and she stood up from the bed to pull up a bean bag and sit next to him, like an equal. For however long they sat there in comfortable silence, just taking comfort in the fact someone else was there. Nothing needed to be said, and despite whatever shit he'd been hoarding her fridge, whatever insults she'd tossed at him, and whatever kind of struggle they were heading for, she knew that some form of friendship had been molded from the dysfunction of it all. It wasn't adoration, and it wasn't lust, but it was bond of a sort, and they could trust it.

After what must have been about ten minutes sitting in that physically tangible silence and the whir of their individual thoughts, both parties stood and nodded to one other. Sara climbed back into bed and sighed with exhaustion, eyes drifting to a close. L wandered to the door, hands in his pockets, and flicked the switch to turn the light off.

"Night," she murmured.

"Goodnight."

"You're very awkward saying 'goodnight'."

"I'm not," he protested in the dark.

"You are," she smiled.

"Go to sleep," he muttered.

"Goodnight."

Sara snuggled further into her pillow. As she heard the door close, her hands moved instinctively to her abdomen. It felt no different from the rest of her stomach, and she wondered if it was possible that such a momentous change was really taking place there. She had not yet curved with maternity, being only three weeks pregnant, so it was so odd to believe the blastocyst would become a fetus, and then a baby, and then a child, and an adult, and… well. It was like trying to picture what your own life would be when all you'd ever seen was how others' would go, and you barely had even footing on how you were.

In the blur of a dream of a future she couldn't place, she woke the next morning. There was no knowing for certain that her meeting with Mello had actually occurred, nor her oddly sentimental moment with L, but a whispering hollowness in her ears told her that it didn't matter either way.

She looked across the breakfast table she shared with four others to L, and nodded politely. He even nodded back. _No more weird shit in my fridge, _her eyes seemed to say.

_No more nagging, _his eyes seemed to say in reply.

"So," Maggie interrupted her thoughts, "Sara, what are you thinking of doing today?"

"Oh," she laughed, "I didn't have any plans."

"You could take her into Winchester," Maggie directed at L. "There's this lovely little market, and it won't be too cold if you take a jumper."

"I don't think-"

"That's okay; I'd like to go," Sara insisted. "If you can put up with me…"

"I'm sure I can endure your company for one more day before you return to L," L murmured, taking stock of the fact that some of the children would probably be listening.

**XXX**

On cobbled streets, small tents had been set up for marketers to sell their wares, from natural stone jewelry to blocks of strong cheese, each stallholder calling out for attention and patronage. Sara dragged her friend through the labyrinthine roads, stopping for the bakery stall he was so eager to clap eyes on, and the second-hand book stall.

She briefly looked down at her phone, and saw an unanswered text from Jenny asking if she was having fun in Winchester. As she typed a response, she looked up to see a couple pushing a little girl of approximately one year old around in a pink buggy. It had always been almost sickening watching such undiluted joy in public, two people for whom one life had become more important than their own. This time, things didn't seem so disgusting. The girl was so small, and so keen to clasp in her tiny fists the unconditional love they offered her.

L looked on with a sense of fondness, nodding and sighing. He knew exactly what she was thinking, staring after the small child. He'd read her file. Despite being aware she wouldn't approve, he had asked Watari to complete a background check on her. What had emerged had been surprising, to say the least, and yet… it fit her hardiness, her solidity of character. It gave her perfect reason to retain that gentleness and sweetness that others had so often remarked upon.

His eyes drifted to another woman, mousy-haired and worn, and still probably only about twenty-eight or so. Her jaw dropped when she saw something familiar. Her brow crinkled. Her jaw clenched. Her mouth pursed. Suddenly, her arms were swinging and she was striding across the square determinedly.

She raised her hand and slapped Sara hard across the face.


	12. Don't Lose Your Head

_Hey don't lose your way  
>Remember love's stronger remember love conquers all<br>Don't lose your head_

- 'Don't Lose Your Head' by Queen

It all happened very quickly – Sara was knocked back into the stall behind her, and L rushed forward to twist her attacker's arm around and straighten it out so that underneath slightly pressure on the elbow, the arm would break. Sara was still in shock, being tended to by the nearest stallholder. The woman who'd hit her protested furiously against L's reaction. He was not willing to risk the business enterprise he'd entered into with the woman's target of violence by letting her go anytime soon.

"Fucking let me go!" she seethed. "Let me go!"

"That's not going to happen, is it?" L pointed out. "Unless, of course, you can reassure me that you will cease attempting violence on the female you just assaulted."

"What, _that _bitch?" she screamed in disbelief. "She ruined my life! She ruined it!"

"And you are only exacerbating that condition by illegally expressing your contempt," L said dryly. "If I release your arm, you must reassure me you will not repeat your mistake."

People had started to gather around them now, seeing Sara's distress and the man holding the unprovoked attacker away firmly. They began to mutter and whisper amongst themselves, some of them even going to see if Sara was all right. She waved them away without a word, her eyes fixed on L, who was unrelenting in his protective stance, despite the woman's continual attempts to free herself.

Eventually, she conceded. "Fine. Fine, I won't hit her again. Get off me."

After a moment, L did as she had asked, and began to return to Sara. As he did so, he heard a collective gasp, for the brown-haired woman had turned back and flown into a fury, eagerly heading for Sara. Several previous observers emerged from the throng of people to hold her back. She continued to grapple with the air in front of her, irrationally enraged.

"You fucking _slut_!" she shrieked. "Remember Liam Dano? Remember him? He remembers you! He's got photos of you two! He's got _photos_! Was he just one in a long line? Stop-! Stop it, let me go! Let me at her, that bloody _whore_!"

Sara's eyes widened in realization, and she dropped her hand from her sore cheek.

"See! _See_? She knows, she knows who I mean! You know, don't you, sweetheart? Well, he's just fucking left me, you know that? Says he's found someone else, makes sense it's _you_, you complete and utter _skank_!"

L put a hand on Sara's shoulder, aware that she was currently paralyzed with unparalleled horror. As he guided her away from the scene being created, the woman, who was now breaking down in angry tears, could be heard yelling after them.

"We have _children_! We have a _baby_! You _bitch_!"

L removed Sara from the square and sat her down in the churchyard isolated from the bustle of the main town. He stood in front of her with his hands behind his back. There was little he could say to comfort her, unexperienced in the business of human emotion as he was. The mother of his unborn child sat on the church steps wordlessly, staring ahead at something he could not pinpoint. She kept making odd little movements with her hands, like she washing them with an invisible soap.

He cleared his throat.

"Sorry about that," Sara said hoarsely, her eyes without tears and avoiding his gaze at all costs. There was some obvious bitterness in her voice, like a disgusting taste had settled there that she couldn't get rid of. "Occupational hazard."

"The wife of a former client, I assume," L replied. He could not think of anything to say in sympathy, and after the words had left his mouth, he deduced they were not the right ones. Unable to voice concern, he had resorted to proving how clever he was in figuring out her attacker's identity. He paused. "I… apologize. That was… insensitive…"

"It's not incorrect."

"All the same…"

"Leave it," Sara snapped. "I'm not…" She sighed and softened her voice. "I'm not angry at you; it's not your fault."

A number of responses were considered in the moments that followed this claim, and yet not one of them seemed appropriate. He watched her bottom lip quiver, as if she was trying to decide whether to cry or scream. Eventually, he checked his watch and realized that they had spent fifteen minutes in the churchyard. He gestured that she should stand and she nodded in a resigned sort of way, pushing herself up off the steps and following him back toward a quieter area of the market square. After a brief inspection, L noted that the woman who had assaulted Sara had left. Nearby, a couple of street performers played a peppy acoustic song he did not recognize.

Sara bought them both coffees from a nearby van, as well as some Belgian waffles with chocolate sauce to satisfy L's sugar cravings. L opened his mouth to disapprove, however she cut him off with a 'not-today' look.

"Look, any other time, I'd be happy to argue with you about the nutritional value of Belgian waffles, but now is _so _not the time," she said firmly, before cutting herself another sizable chunk of waffle with her plastic cutlery.

"We'll resume your dietary routine tomorrow, when we go back to London," L replied.

"We're going back tomorrow?"

"Well, you have done as Jennifer suggested, have you not? Met my functional if not biological family? Seeing as that task has been completed, I assumed you would wish to return to your version of normality," he explained. "Was I wrong?"

"I don't know, I just…" She shrugged. "I like them. I do, they're friendly and accepting. And they _love _you. That must be so nice."

"You must be referring to past experience," L muttered without thinking.

Sara regarded him with shock, lowering the waffle that was halfway up to her mouth before speaking. "How would you know about that?"

"It was a guess."

"You don't _guess_."

Aside from the initial surprise of realizing how perceptive Sara really was, L was bombarded with negative emotion, mostly consisting of anxiety and a tiny bit of fear. "It was necessary to conduct pre-experimental research concerning my subject."

"You researched me. My life, my background, you know _everything_," she asserted sternly.

"It was all needed for the work you would be doing."

"What was the name of my first pet?" she asked coolly. "Come on, I know you know it."

There was no use lying. "Sushi the goldfish."

To L's astonishment, Sara let out a disbelieving burst of laughter. "How is _that _information useful in assessing my ability as a surrogate mother? Ryuzaki, please, if you have something you want to know about me, you just have to _ask_. Don't snoop around in my private affairs. I'm right here. If this kid is yours, and believe me, I know, it's yours, then you have to _trust_ me."

"Trust is not something that comes easily to me."

"Tell me something I don't know," she murmured. "So, quid pro quo. Think of it as a trust exercise. You ask me a question, I'll do the same. Complete honesty."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea-"

"Chicken," she accused softly.

"I'm not-"

She began to cluck ostentatiously, drawing some confused stares until L hushed her and appeased her with a hasty, "okay, okay!"

"I thought so," she smiled. "Hmm, what to ask you, the man of a million secrets…?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully, a restrained grin gracing her features. "All right. Let's start as we mean to carry on, completely childishly. As a woman of vast experience myself, I have to wonder, is your desire to use IVF on me due to the fact that you have a preference of the male kind? You know, sexually?"

L choked a little on his waffle. "I see how this is going to go. The answer is no. As far as I am aware, since I have… um… _no_ experience, my preference could go either way. The reason that you were… _fertilized_ in vitro was because I perceived that this would be the most effective method to impregnate you."

"Apart from sex," she sniggered.

"Exactly that."

"You have _no _experience? Jesus, have you been living in a hole?" she gasped, mock-tragically. "Oh, babe, I'm sorry."

"Stop laughing at me."

"I'm not," she giggled, then straightened her face to almost convincing sincerity. "I'm… I'm not. I'm not laughing. But you're twenty-one! Sorry, sorry... Okay. Your go. Embarrass me."

"You have a drawer in your bedroom you don't use. The other drawers have marks where the dust motes have been disturbed, but not your bottom drawer. I have not had the time to inspect personally," he said, fascinated. "So… what is actually in there?"

Sara looked utterly horrified, a blush sweeping up her complexion like a hot rainstorm. "Fuck."

"Complete honesty."

"It's my guilty pleasures drawer, all right?" she hissed. "I keep all sorts in there."

"Elaborate?"

"I have chocolate, shitty CDs, chick flicks on DVD," she grumbled. "I have trashy celeb magazines, all kinds." She raised her eyebrows at him. "You thought it was going to be porn and shit, didn't you?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"I'm sure I have a dildo or something in there somewhere," she said with a shrug. "The girls at Vida Loca like to get them for their employees for Christmas, and they're almost always absolutely hilarious. Did you know you can get actually get _Buffy _themed ones? Imagine! Shoving an Angel-figurine up your jacksy!"

"I… did not know that…" he mumbled, going a little pink.

"My turn!" she exclaimed excitedly. "This is fun! Hmm… do you have a favorite food that isn't sweet?"

"Odd question," he thought aloud. _Strange woman_. "I do not really eat anything savory, but I recall enjoying bacon sandwiches when I was a very small child. Watari used to make them with tomato ketchup all over them, and then one day he paired bacon with maple syrup and pancakes and I never returned to my former culinary combination."

"You used to eat bacon butties?" She couldn't see it.

"I believe it is my opportunity to ask you a question," L said. "What on earth does 'bishie' mean?"

"Say again?"

"'Bishie', what does it mean?"

"I think it means 'bishounen', technically," Sara guessed. "But I think usually, 'pretty boy', or as a term for a good-looking guy. It's a Japanese thing, I think."

"Ah, I see."

"Why?" she asked, still a little bewildered, but amused.

"I was simply curious as to the word's definition," he responded. "It is one more noun to add to my lexicon."

"No, I'm not buying that!" she laughed. "No way, be honest! Complete honesty! One hundred percent!"

Her use of the percentage tipped the corner of his lips upwards. "It was a word applied to me by a surrogacy candidate."

"Aha," Sara said understandingly, still grinning. "I get it now. She wanted in your pants."

"_Excuse _me?"

"She wanted to jump you!" she chuckled. "She fancied you sending her to the moon!"

L's voice was hushed, and laced with genuine concern. "Why would she desire space travel?"

At this, Sara's shoulders began to shake as one hand flew up to her mouth and she tried to mask the squeaky noises that escaped her. L frowned and leant forward slightly as she doubled over, worried that she had started to cry again. Instead, she actually fell out of her chair and he noticed that in fact her lack of control was due to her laughing hysterically. On closer inspection, it was apparent she _was _crying.

"Oh my God…" she gasped, trying to get up again only to lose her footing and drop back onto her bottom.

"Are you quite all right?" L asked. He didn't get the joke.

Eventually, she managed to get back up to the chair, but was still giggling. She wiped her eyes hopelessly. "I'm sorry, I can't stop."

Unable to comprehend the female's brain, he handed her one of the napkins that came with his waffles. She dabbed her joyful tears away and fixed L with a warm smile.

"The woman who called you a 'bishie', simply put, wanted to have sex with you, L," she said throatily as she recovered from her laughing fit.

"Why on earth would she want to do that?" he replied, amazed.

Sara shook her head, glanced at him sideways and remembered Jenny's comment on her facial expression when she talked about the man in front of her. She shrugged.

"Beats me."


	13. Friends Will Be Friends

_It's not easy love, but you've got friends you can trust,  
>Friends will be friends,<br>When you're in need of love they give you care and attention,  
>Friends will be friends,<br>When you're through with life and all hope is lost,  
>Hold out your hand cos friends will be friends right till the end.<em>

- 'Friends Will Be Friends' by Queen

Another couple of days at Wammy's House followed, despite L's previous assumption that they would return home the day after their arrival. To his surprise, Sara spent much of her time outside with Mello, and playing with the younger children. For the most part, he watched from the outside of all the activity, but enjoyed it just as much as if he had really participated. Occasionally, she would glance his way and do that wide, white smile that could almost be sunshine in her mouth, blinding and sending warmth across his skin.

On the day that they had to return to London, Sara received a goodbye even she had not anticipated. Tackled to the ground by several of the younger children, she embraced each of them in turn, and when she got to Mello, winked. He winked back knowingly, to L's astonishment. It was a promise her secret would be kept, a promise that he understood her and she could trust him with anything. Somehow, Sara had made this seething, seemingly impenetrable boy love her, wholly and completely.

"You look after everyone here for me, won't you, Mello?" she whispered conspiratorially. "It has to be you."

"You can count on me," he assured her.

Maggie approached, a warm smile lighting her features. "You take care on your journey, my love."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Sara insisted, "you needn't have been so helpful, but you were. I'll come back to see you all when I can."

"You, darling, are always welcome."

L did not embrace any of his family. Quite frankly, he flinched at the thought of contact, but did not hesitate to put some pressure on the small of his housemate's back, guiding her firmly but gently toward the car. He knew that given the opportunity, she would stay at Wammy's forever, yet he had not the time or inclination to fulfill these whims, instead slotting himself next to her in the back of Watari's car and opening a series of folders concerning the case that compelled him to work.

He had narrowed it down to two suspects, and it would only take a couple of weeks before DNA samples could be analyzed and the pair of men interrogated. The geographical profiling had finally come through.

It made him nervous.

Little made him anxious, however it was impossible to do what he usually did: take his insecurities or fears and place them in a mental box for later objective examination, allowing him to continue his work unhindered. The truth was something he would not worry Sara with, although admittedly he knew any other person would feel morally obliged to inform her.

The main suspect in this case of rape of prostitutes lived one street away from where he and Sara currently resided.

To proceed appropriately, he would have to clamp these worries in a mental crate, permanently disabling them. It would be unimaginably foolish to confide in the mother of his future child, a former prostitute, who would undoubtedly then inform her other associates and cause immeasurable problems in catching the culprit. L refused to be compromised. Simply refused. And when he put his mind to it, he could always do what he wanted to do.

He believed that this was why he was so good at his job, and why he had survived long enough as it was to reach the position he was in – the world's topmost private detective. Had he not the emotional detachment skills that he indeed possessed, L's mind years ago would surely have crumpled like a letter in cold rain, like the minds of all those he perceived to be weaker than him because of their inferior intellectualism. Others relinquished their bodies and mentalities to emotion. It was the fatal error of ultimately just being human.

For the sake of the world, he could not just be human.

For _his_ sake, he could not just be human.

Never again.

**XXX**

He was so quiet, and it unnerved her. She was used to his silence, his studious perusals of documents that held his attention more than any person would. This was not that kind of silence. He sat with his knees close to his chest, and by God, it frustrated her. Was it impossible to sit like an evolved being instead of a hybrid ape-man-thing? Like he was the Missing Link in Darwin's theory of evolution, not quite all there yet more human to his core than any other living thing in history?

By the time they had reached Sara's house in London, she had slept some, and even then, awoke to see him stuck in that same slouched, crouched position. After submitting to her return to her healthy diet, she lay back on the sofa and noted his disappearance to a study upstairs. With a sigh, she rolled over, switched on the television and found that remarkably, there were over a thousand channels and absolutely nothing to watch.

Reluctantly, her eyes drifted to the piano in the corner of her living room. She had not played for so long, she felt almost rusty.

_Play me._

_Please…_

Finally, she dragged her legs to the ground and headed to the piano, straightening herself out on the stool and taking a deep breath before brushing the keys swiftly with her hands. The song that she played was so familiar to her, but not. She realized she had been mulling this creation over in her head since her last vow never to play again. Releasing it to the world in its rawest, most natural form was catharsis, the best kind.

At some points, she lost herself so much that she was closing her eyes, shaking her head with conviction and letting her entire upper body roll with the rhythm of the music. Christ, it felt good.

Letting go.

When she floated to a close after a crescendo of startling simplicity yet infinite personal power, she grinned wide and made a tiny excited squeaking noise. Why the hell had she given up…?

Well, yes, there was that.

It was like riding a bicycle; you never forgot it once you knew how to do it, especially with the natural talent Sara had been born with. She'd been so certain that this was what she wanted to do with her life, playing and singing and living, _feeding_ off of music. It had never struck her that so many others want to do it too, and they were in a much better place to do so. They hadn't had the father she had, or the mother she had. Or half the promise.

Had she been aware that above her, her music would be easily heard and taken notice of, she may have been somewhat more self-conscious of it. Previously skimming through Interpol's files in search of another case to follow up on after the rape case was over, his slender fingers hovered in anticipation of the keys. He played along with her, following her melody a fraction of a second after her as he typed, both creating music in the ways they knew how. His music was justice, hers the thrumming of ivory that captured the beat of her heart.

When she started up again, so did he, waiting for her moves to counter. As she slowed to a stop, he did too, the leaves to her breeze. A challenge he would sway to, coordinate with as naturally as she played.

Eventually, at around eleven o'clock that night, the two of them crossed paths, Sara on her way to her bedroom, he on his way downstairs for cake. Not a word passed between them. Somehow, their coexistence was managing to be a peaceful one.

L's trip to the kitchen was silent. He opened the fridge with not so much as the pop of the door arousing the peace. Smiling to himself, he removed a plate of cake he had not seen before with a note attached: 'to say thank you for the market day – Sara'.

Oddly gentle of her. He lifted the slice of what appeared to be coconut cake to his mouth – yes, it definitely smelled like coconut – and took a bite. He promptly spat it back out again, and was forced to wash out his mouth with the kitchen tap. He clawed at his tongue as he realized that the texture of the cake was in fact lathering. Returning to the cake, he observed embedded in the sponge another note.

'You did stalk me though – S'.

She'd filled the cake with soap! Coconut, to disguise the scent.

Upstairs, she was curled up in bed, shaking with laughter that she had been trying to keep silent lest he suspected her dirty work. At one point, she had used a CD of her old piano recordings to cover up the sound of the electric whisk as she mixed her hand gel into the cake mix. Honestly, how likely was it she would play piano from five in the afternoon until eleven o'clock at night? He wouldn't go about snooping through her past business in a hurry again. She stretched her arms out across the bed in satisfaction until her hand brushed something sticky and gooey, at which point she yanked her hand away and sat up hastily to switch the lamp on. She screamed at the sight.

A cadaver! A fucking cadaver, in her bed! But not a cadaver, it couldn't possibly be. The eyes were not real but glass, the kind one would get from a doll repair shop for a china doll. That was almost creepier. _Almost_.

A number of relaxed footsteps leading her eyeline to the doorway informed her that the culprit was leaning against the doorframe, rather pleased with himself. With a satisfied 'hm', he shrugged his hunched shoulders as if to say, "what can I do?"

"What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_?"

"Why, yes. Exactly my question." He arched an eyebrow.

Gritting her teeth, she rolled out of bed and marched over to face him contemptuously. "There is a _corpse_ in my bed, L."

"What odd taste in men you seem to have, Sara," he deadpanned.

Her mouth pursed into a straight line as she shoved the hefty bedtime visitor off her sheets and onto the floor. She dared not give him the satisfaction that undoubtedly would come should she respond as sarcastically as she wanted to. After a few moments eyeballing him, he seemed to lose interest in her reaction – how characteristically psychopathic of him.

"It's not even a real corpse. It's a mannequin full of pig flesh. I call him Kevin."

"Oh, that's disgusting."

"It's the closest thing I could find without using a real cadaver from the nearest morgue. Apparently, the relatives of the cadaver had some objections as to its usage outside cremation and burial." He shrugged. "Can't imagine why."

"You're clinically insane, did you know that?"

"Never been diagnosed with a condition-"

"Oh _that's _encouraging, just 'cause you've not been bloody caught yet…" Sara muttered, swinging her legs out of bed and stepping away from the corpse. She planted her feet and scowled at the father of her unborn child. "This…" She gestured briefly to the cadaver. "This is war."

Forget Jenny's assumptions about her relationship with L, facial expression or not – she was fuming. What she felt coursing through her veins did not ring of sexual or romantic interest, more of hatred and frustration. This man simply did not possess any understanding of human social intercourse, and somehow, she'd ended up being the unlucky bastard who had to initiate him into the real world. Now L had incurred Sara's wrath, and the games would most likely continue until an obvious winner emerged.

An idea, beautifully wrought, formed.

Smirking inwardly, she kicked the pig-fleshed mannequin towards the doorframe and indicated that he should remove it. Then, calmly, she slotted herself back underneath her bed covers and sighed with exhaustion.

L, too startled by her sudden, unexplainable change in mood, found himself incapable of protest, and pulled the cadaver he'd christened Kevin into the hallway.

"Kevin," he muttered, "women are an odd species."


End file.
